WNE 2: Rainy April Regrets
by aubreysmom
Summary: Highline T for subject matter. Heavy issues but not explicit. FAIR WARNING. A year later, Dan Jones has escaped from prison. Myles and Tara lead the manhunt, but who's really being hunted, and what happens when things go bad very rapidly? Pt 2 of 3
1. Credits,Prologue,Ch 1

**Rainy April Regrets**

(sequel to _Weekend in New England_)

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**Disclaimer:** The _STFBE_ characters are the property of Pebblehut Productions and Paxson Communications. Dan Jones and his associates are of my own creation (why they showed up in my head is beyond me).

**Rating: **A strong T (borderline T-plus/M), simply for a great deal of angst and a very adult situation… well, you'll see.

**Author's Note: **_This is a personal journey for me, like so many of my other stories. At first I thought it was merely a way to face something from my past, but I quickly learned it was far more than that. It has shown me the dangers of giving in to guilt, particularly guilt incorrectly felt for something over which one has no control. My muse apparently sees writing as a way to learn lessons I refuse to listen to from any other source. Thank you, "Paul."

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**PART I: To the End…

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**Prologue**

_A whole year; hard to believe._ Tara Williams tapped her pen against her lips, smiling to herself as she watched her "partner" plowing through a report on a case they'd just finished, bantering with Bobby and generally goofing off.

Ever since their first "adventure" in Camden, Maine, a year ago, chasing down a treasonous thief, she'd never expected that the friendship they'd discovered would have such an effect on him. For herself, he had become an anchor she'd never thought she'd find anywhere; but for him, it seemed, she had become the catalyst to bring down slightly the walls he'd built so strongly around his heart. Though she understood completely now _why_ the walls were there, she'd certainly never expected to see them soften around the rest of the team. Not that it was overtly noticeable; just a subtle mellowing that someone would occasionally comment on.

After hours, it was almost as if they'd never left the snowbound inn where he'd saved her life. At least three evenings a week, if they were free, they were at her apartment or his house, talking, playing chess or cribbage (he regularly trounced her at chess, she creamed him every time at cribbage; it was an even match), or just enjoying each others' company. Sometimes, if a case had been particularly grueling, they'd end up snuggled together on the sofa, exchanging companionable touches and an occasional platonic kiss, letting the stress melt away as they "debriefed."

At work, it was as if they were extensions of each other; there had been more than one comment about it from Garrett, and even Jack had mentioned it. They were paired regularly now, whether on legwork or actual takedowns. Her field experience (outside the surveillance van) had quadrupled in the past year, and Jack had privately confided to her that she seemed to have a stabilizing effect on the Harvard grad, whose knee-jerk intensity sometimes made him a little reckless.

Still, even there it was not unusual for him to brush a hand across her shoulders as they gathered around her computer for breaking news, or for her to catch his hand briefly on their way out the door. It was just natural now, though they kept it discreet.

He must have felt her gaze on him, because he paused in his banter with Bobby to wink at her. She marveled again at how easily they'd managed to continue what they'd started at the inn, and how little anyone else had commented on it. Now she watched an aide walk up to him and hand him a file, and smiled again as he actually paused in his work to thank the young lady. He turned to read the file, and it all vanished; she saw his face go hard with outrage.

Myles slapped the folder on his desk and blew his breath out in frustration. "I swear, the detention system in this country is abysmal. Why do we even _bother_ arresting people?" He was building to a full head of steam, and heads were turning. "I mean, it's a waste of our time to hunt down a criminal, a waste of money to make the taxpayers foot the bill for a trial and incarceration if they cannot _keep the man in prison_!"

"Who, Myles?" Jack wearily looked up from his own report.

"Dan Jones, that's who!"

"_What_?" Tara sat back in her chair, shocked. "You're kidding."

He stalked over to her desk and practically threw the folder at her. "No, I'm not kidding! He escaped from the Maryland Prison Center two days ago, and vanished into thin air. By now he's probably setting up a deal for the plans to the National Defense System."

"I'd be more worried about him hunting the two of you down," Lucy commented dryly. "You pretty much humiliated him."

Myles shot her a severe look for her lack of tact, then glanced at Tara, whose eyes had gone a little wide. He knew she was thinking back to a meeting with Jones and a most unpleasant proposition. Not caring who was watching now, he touched her hand briefly. "Then I guess we'll just have to go hunt him down first."

She swallowed, but looked up at him, drawing strength from the blue-grey fire she saw there. "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

**One**

Tara blew out her breath in exasperation. "Howie, if you don't quit the dramatic lead-in and just _tell_ us what you heard, I'm going to pretend you don't work on our side. Do you read me?"

Myles had to smother a grin as he watched his petite partner ram the snitch up against a brick wall in four inches of slushy January snow. Howie Fines might outweigh Tara by twenty pounds, but he had a healthy respect for the woman's abilities as a Special Agent. And her full clip of impatience at the moment.

Howie raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. Sheesh." He glanced at Myles. "How come you guys let her sit behind that computer all the time? She's scarier than Bobby."

"Howie—" Tara bumped him back again just for good measure, her breath wreathing the small man's face like a cloud of smoke.

"All _right_, already." The snitch took a breath. "Look, I don't even know for sure how accurate this is, because it seems to have worked its way through a dozen people already, and no one seems to know who started the chain. But the word is that the guy you're looking for, Dan Jones, is holed up in the old VanTex research facility out in Falls Church. The place is a maze, though; I guess they even had some big secret lower levels where the heavy stuff was going on. It'd take days to search the whole place."

"Not if we get an army out there," Myles declared. "Which is what I intend to set up."

Tara let go of the snitch and pulled out her cell phone. "Who do you want me to call first?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Two

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"You look like a man with a great deal on his mind."

Myles turned from the conference room window to find Dimitrius leaning against the table. "Apparently, since I didn't even hear you come in." He sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I want this guy, D. I want to personally slap the cuffs on him and drag him back to prison. But at the same time, I have to wonder if I'm being played for a fool, or worse."

"You think it's possible Jones was our 'anonymous tip.'" The older man crossed his arms over his chest and waited, knowing it was better for his friend to work through his thoughts out loud.

"All too possible," Myles replied, sinking into one of the leather chairs. "And if that's the case, then this is a trap. I know we only arrested him on theft and treason, but you didn't see him around Tara. Even though he backed off when we 'established our relationship,' I could still see something in his eyes. And he had no qualms about shooting me in the head and dumping me out in Camden harbor. If he were to get hold of one or the other of us, or both…" His eyes flared with certain knowledge of the tack Jones would take. Then he gave his friend a sidelong glance. "And you _know_ Tara's not going to just stay in the van for this one."

D smiled. "You're the one who let her 'spread her wings' a year ago. Just watch her back. Go ahead and try to talk her out of it, but be prepared for a fight. We're ready to head out, by the way."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

"Man, Howie wasn't kidding," Bobby commented as they stood around the command center, looking at a blueprint of the VanTex Research Facility. "Like a bloody labyrinth in there."

"Yeah," D agreed. "Just too bad no one ever bothered to save a copy of the lower levels. Talk about paranoid."

"More like it was best if no one in the area knew the details of what they were working on," Myles added. "Not even to know there were facilities _available_ for it." He pointed at the side-view blueprint. "All right. Jack, Bobby, start on the top floors with your teams. D, you and Mike Jarvis take the middle floors and down. I'm going to start on the ground floor and hope they didn't hide the door to the lower section particularly well."

"And if they did, you're gonna need scanners to find it, and someone to break into it." The men turned to see Tara walking toward them, fastening the last of her black recon gear.

A low whistle escaped one pair of lips. "Has anyone ever told her she makes that outfit _really_ nice?" Bobby whispered, getting several swats in the process from his colleagues. "All right! Just because none of you blokes have the guts to voice it…"

She raised a brow as she reached them, and the Aussie knew she'd overheard. An expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement crossed her features. He'd hear about it later, Bobby was positive of that.

Myles wasn't quite as amused. "Tara," he said quietly, taking her arm and drawing her aside. "I know you want this guy just as badly as I do. And I appreciate what you're doing. But…" He paused for a moment. "In light of what Jones had on his mind the last time, and the very _real_ possibility that this is a trap of some sort, don't you think—?"

She looked at him very seriously, with none of the outrage she would have shown a year ago at his "protectiveness." "If it's a trap, I'm not about to let you walk into it by yourself. And thank you _so_ much for making that decision without me." Her brow raised in a subtle reprimand that he acknowledged with a slight nod. "I'm not letting him scare me off. You want to protect me, it'll have to be from right at your shoulder, because I'm going. You can come along if you want." She walked back over to the table.

Myles shook his head, unable to repress a small smile. _I've created a monster, _he thought fondly. _Williams, I wouldn't dream of getting in your way. I just hope this isn't going to turn out to be another blizzard._

He pulled Jack aside just before they left. "If anything goes wrong, if we lose contact for any reason…"

The unit leader nodded soberly. "We won't stop till we find you. Count on it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Four

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**

She stared at the door for a long minute, then carefully checked her equipment for any indication of electronic devices before she broke the silence. "Ajar," she said softly. "Why does that not surprise me at all, yet give me the willies at the same time?"

"Because you have an uncanny intuition, developed from the last twelve months at my side," Myles whispered back with a grin, narrowly missing the good-natured swat she aimed at him. "Anything waiting for us in that doorway?"

Tara pulled out a scanner and her palm-top. "Nope," she said after a minute. "Nothing. Just as if it had been abandoned for five years, which it has."

"Lovely. As if I really believe it." He frowned as he glanced at her. "Sure I can't talk you into staying topside?"

"Not a chance." She motioned to the five people behind her. "Space out, guys. No telling what Jones has set up down here. Keep your eyes open." She smiled at the raised brow Myles aimed at her, and shrugged. "So I'm enjoying this a little. Lead on, O Captain, my Captain."

He shook his head at her again, grinning. "You've got a year's field experience over last time. I hope 'Danny Boy' kept that in mind." He spoke into his radio. "This is SAM 3-3. Orange Team is headed down."

* * *

In the depths of the building, dark eyes sparkled in anticipation, listening to the quiet conversation going on through the shielded bugs he had installed. "Have no worries, agents. I have kept much in mind concerning you. Come into my parlor…" 


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** I took a bit of artistic liberty with this operation. In all likelihood, what you will seehere wouldn't happen for real. But I needed to "prolong" things for the sake of the story. So if the FBI seems to be running a bit on the "cautious" side, that's why.

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:

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**Five**

The corridors were eerily lit from skylights high above that had seen years of dust and mineral deposits; it made visibility even at noon just difficult enough that their nerves were strung tight. Emergency doors, spaced every ten feet, were a constant reminder that they really had no idea what might still be stored down here. The winter chill of the upper floors settled into a sheltered sixty degrees in the basement levels.

Tara kept her eyes on her partner's feet, ten feet in front of her; she would be able to not only tell what was coming up, but she'd be able to warn him if there was trouble he'd missed.

"Williams." A whispered voice from behind made her turn. "The radio signal's sputtering."

She glanced at her scanner. "We're coming into an area that's being jammed." Turning back to let Myles know, she caught the flash of an eye-beam at his ankle. "Myles!"

He spun around just as the emergency door between them slammed shut. She whirled to the rest of the team. "Abort!" she cried. "Get out of here!"

They took off, and she spun back around. The door was heavy Plexiglas, ten inches thick and hermetically sealed against contagion. She watched, helpless, as the next door beyond him slammed shut as well.

"Get out of here!" She could barely hear him through the glass. Pulling out her computer, she pried an electrical panel off the wall at waist-level. "Tara!"

"Just give me a second," she replied, her heart pounding. "If I can short this out—"

She never got the chance. As she shifted to work on the wiring, her foot slid back enough to trip a second eye-beam. The door behind her slammed shut, and the hiss of a gas trickled from the ceiling.

"Tara!" he yelled again.

She looked up, then saw that Myles' compartment was also filling with a white mist. Eyes locked, they realized at the same moment what was happening.

Thirty seconds later, both agents were slumped on the floor. At the entrance to the lower levels, the hydraulic door swung shut, and a fire hose box slid down from the ceiling, concealing the entrance as if it had never been there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

On the top floor, Jack slammed a hand against the wall as the radio cut out completely. "SAM 3-3! Report! SAM 3-5! Myles! Tara! Do you read me? Report!" _I knew it, I just knew it…_ He tried again. "SAM 4-7; Mike, you still there?"

Jarvis' voice was on the line immediately. "We're still on the second floor, Hudson. Looks like only their radios are fritzing. Could be a localized jammer."

Suddenly, a voice came over a burst of static. "…do you read? SAM 3-1, do you read?"

Jack all but pounced on his receiver. "Report!"

The voice on the other end was shaky. "It was a trap, SAM 3-1. SAM 3-3 and 3-5 are out of contact. Repeat; SAM 3-3 and 3-5 are out of contact."

"All teams, move to last known location. Blue Team, link up with Bobby and Yellow Team. I'm going to the command center to coordinate." The knot in his gut wasn't going to go away, he knew; it would get worse until his teammates were found.

Mike Jarvis was already moving. "Red Team, follow me. Gans, how close are you?"

"Green Team almost there now. Remainder of Orange Team has joined us and we are proceeding back to contact point." The older man's voice held the same determination coursing through Jack. After a tense silence, D spoke again. "Jack… wherever the door was, it's sealed itself up. There's nothing here, or nothing any of our scanners can read. Tara had the high-end stuff with her."

Jack's heart plunged. "Get back here, guys, and let's regroup. I made Myles a promise I'm _going _to keep."


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

A sigh escaped as she vaguely felt arms lift her, a memory fighting its way up from the darkness…

"_Tara!"_

_His deep voice reached through the frozen fog of her thoughts, and she could have sworn she felt him shake her shoulder. But there was barely energy left to respond to him, so violent was her shivering now._

"_M-m-myles?" she managed. Very gently, he scooped her up in his arms and started back toward the inn, keeping his hip against the fence._

"_It's all right," he murmured, and she relaxed against his shoulder. She didn't care what else happened now; she wasn't alone in the cold anymore. Suddenly, he slipped, and they both went down hard. She lay there, shivering, and the light faded completely…_

Dan Jones looked at the two agents they'd just dumped on the floor, and smiled at his two associates. "It's going to be a good day." He sealed the cell, led them back to the outer lab area and stretched out in one of the chairs they'd appropriated from other areas. The other men dumped the assortment of firearms, cell phones and radio equipment on the table, then sat down as well.

One of them, a burly man with a cropped shock of blonde hair, smirked and toyed with the small roulette wheel he'd been obsessed with even in the prison. "Yeah. That chick musta thought you were someone else, from the way she latched onto you while you were carrying her in here. And by the way, she's even cuter than you described."

"Oh, I know who was on her mind, Benny," Jones replied. "And I intend to use that little subconscious tidbit to its full advantage."

"So, boss…" The other man was slighter, with thinning red hair and a scar down the side of his left eye. "How long we gonna keep these two? Or are we gonna move 'em outta here?"

"Well…" Jones trailed off, staring at the spinning roulette wheel with a sudden gleam in his eyes. Then he glanced into the test room, where Myles and Tara were still unconscious. "Tell you what, Jet. Let's leave it up to fate. Benny, give that wheel of yours a good spin. If it comes up black, we kill 'em quick and head for Cabo San Lucas in a hurry. Red… we have some fun. And believe me, I know enough about these two to make it quite an entertaining venture."

Benny grinned. "You got it, Boss." He dropped the white marble into the wheel and gave it a whirl. "Round and round she goes…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

Jack and the others burst into the Bullpen; he'd called Lucy and Sue on the way in, and they were waiting at the board. "Tell me you have _something_," he asked.

Lucy smiled. "Of course we do. They don't call this the world's greatest investigative agency for nothing."

Sue caught the impatient glint in several sets of eyes and dove right in. "Dan Jones used to _work_ at VanTex, in the lower areas. We don't know specifically the sort of work he did, but he probably knows those lower levels as well as anyone."

Bobby tapped his fist on Tara's desk. "Then we need to find someone _else_ who worked down there, pronto. Myles I can deal without for a day or so; but Tara…" The joke fell flat; everyone knew the constant banter between the two tall agents was an effective cover for a deep mutual respect and good working friendship.

"Already on it," Lucy responded. "A woman by the name of Elaine Schmidt; she worked as a chemist at VanTex for nearly ten years, on several 'restricted' projects. She's on her way here as we speak."

"Good," Jack said. "As soon as she gets here, I want to start a workup of those lower levels, and pick her brain dry for _anything_ that we need to know about how to get down there and what to expect when we do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

A strange pounding sound was tormenting her ears as Tara slowly regained consciousness; she tried turning to block it out, but came in contact with something warm and solid. Suddenly, her eyes flew open as it registered what the sound was.

Myles was lying next to her, coughing intensely as the gas worked its way out of his lungs. She placed a hand to his cheek, swiftly realizing he was unable to catch his breath. She glanced around the cell, looking for some way to help.

Wherever they were in the lower labs, this was obviously a room for an extended test subject. Along with the halfway comfortable-looking cot, there was a small lavatory area with an opaque curtain to draw around it for some means of privacy. A sink and a commode were all the amenities, but it was enough.

She caught his gaze, even as he continued to cough, but got him to his feet and over next to the sink. Letting him slide down against the wall, she turned on the water and let it run for a moment. Then, with nothing else to hold the water, she cupped her hands under the faucet and filled them as best she could. Keeping her fingers tightly together, she moved over to his side and said, "Drink. It'll help."

He did so, and she signed MORE? with a raised brow as he finished. He nodded wearily, and she went back for a second fill. This time, the coughing stopped, and he drew in a long breath, her hands still grasped in his and at his lips.

"You know," he rasped finally, "I'm not sure whether to shake you for disobeying a direct order from the team leader, or kiss you for staying to try to help."

She smiled. ME MAKE YOUR CHOICE. She mouthed it at the same time, and hugged him briefly. ME HAPPY YOU OK.

He eyed her for a moment, unsure why she was signing, particularly in standard English word order; then he glanced around at the cell and the observation window that would afford very little private conversation for them. She was using Pidgin Signed English, ASL signs in English word order, to make it easier for him to understand. YOU SMART, he managed slowly. SIGN GOOD… He paused, and had to fingerspell it. I-D-E-A.

YOU THINK JONES— she initialized the name with a simple "J" handshape — LISTEN?

She had to whisper the last word, since he gave her a very confused look. Then he nodded, and leaned to whisper in her ear. "Most likely he has the cell at least bugged, if not set up with a camera. But he may not be expecting us to be awake yet, so it's better if we're quiet while we figure a way out."

A tap on the glass brought their heads around. Dan Jones, a smirk on his face, held up a hand-written sign:

**TOO LATE.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

Elaine Schmidt was a striking middle-aged woman with long chestnut hair and deep chocolate eyes. Her penciled brows drew together as she sat with the team, sketching a layout of the lower lab area. "And you say Jones had his eye on your Agent… Williams during the previous case?"

"That's right," Jack replied. "From their reports, it sounds like Myles and Tara had to set up quite a cozy little side-cover, just to keep him at bay."

The chemist sighed. "Then your friends are in worse trouble than they know. Especially now that he knows it was all an act. Dan Jones fancies himself quite a Don Juan, and he doesn't take 'no' for an answer. I called up the old personnel director from VanTex and asked him to fax you a copy of Jones' personnel file. You'll find several harassment incidents; I personally know three women who finally had to leave the company to escape his advances. If he's been denied a 'prize,' and now has both the prize and the one who denied it to him…" She shuddered. "My best advice is… find them _fast_."


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

They waited, fully expecting Jones to come in immediately and start whatever it was he had in mind. Myles felt his partner move fractionally closer to him, and glanced down at her. But Jones merely smirked again and turned away, moving out of their sight line.

Tara stood and walked over to the window separating their cell from the lab area. "He's gone," she said. "Headed down the hall away from us." She shivered, and felt him move to stand beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

"It will be all right, Tara," he said gently. "We outsmarted this idiot once; we can do it again." He turned her around, grasping her shoulders more firmly. "And you know full well I'm not going to let him touch you, as long as I'm still drawing breath."

"I know," she smiled faintly up at him. "I'm sorry; he still gives me the creeps. I just wish I hadn't gotten distracted up there in the hall. We'd never have ended up here if I'd seen that eye-beam sooner."

He shrugged. "I missed it, too," he replied. "Tell you what; why don't we take advantage of Jones' absence to see if there's a way out of this cell that doesn't require your toolkit."

"Okay." She knew he was trying to keep her mind off whatever Jones had up his slimy sleeve, and she appreciated it. It was one of the lessons she'd learned from him in the past year; how to stay focused even when the situation scared you witless. It was one thing to focus from the confines of the surveillance van or the command center; quite another when you were right in the thick of things.

Fifteen minutes later, having started at the back center of the cell and each working along one side, they met right at the door. Both the blue-grey eyes and the dark hazel ones showed the same frustration.

Tara sighed. "Well, so much for the easy way out."

"It was a long shot anyway," Myles replied. "I think he may know this place, somehow. It would be a strange place to hole up if he _didn't_." He shrugged as she raised a brow toward the listening device they knew was somewhere. "I know fewer signs than Levi. You feel like spending however long we're here playing 'Charades'? I don't."

"Very true." She paced the length of the cell, suddenly fanning her face with one hand. "It's stuffy in here."

"I'd noticed that," he replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. "Not much we can do about it, though, unless you secreted a glass cutter in the sole of your shoe. And even then, it would take an hour minimum to cut through that six-inch thick window. So I guess we suffer."

Tara laughed. "Or, you could just shed a layer. Recon gear wasn't exactly designed for long-term breathability."

His brow went up, teasing her. "You think you could handle that?"

She gave it right back to him, needing the banter to calm her nerves. "Tank or T-shirt?"

That proud chin angled up slightly, as if she need ask. "T-shirt. I don't feel the need to parade my physique every time we have to change."

Her laughter went a fair ways to calming him as well. "Ooh… disappointment. I suppose I can handle it." Now her grin grew mischievous again. "Can you handle it if I join you?"

The blond brow popped up again as his head came out from under his jersey, accompanied by an almost-sly smile. "Tank or T?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Tank, wide straps. Sleeveless, but modest. Can you deal?"

His eyes went solemn for a moment, and his voice lost its teasing. "I can deal quite easily, but I don't know about Jones. You may be inviting more of his warped wit. Perhaps it might be wise to keep the recon jersey around your shoulders, just as a precaution."

"Good idea." She shivered slightly, even as she pulled off the jersey and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she walked back toward him and cut off the apology she saw coming. "Not necessary, Myles. Thank you for thinking it through."

"You're welcome." The Harvard grad sat down on the wide cot, leaning back against the wall and clasping his hands behind his head. "Look, there's nothing we can do right now, Tara. The team's working on finding us. Jack promised he'd take this place down brick by brick if he had to."

She turned and raised a brow at him, her mouth quirking. "Really? He said all that?"

Myles chuckled. "You just have to learn to decipher the grunts and one-word answers."

Now Tara laughed genuinely, and sat down by him. "Thank you," she said, squeezing his arm gently. "I needed that."

"I thought you might." He extended one arm toward her. "Come here; we may as well sit this out in an amiable manner."


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

A rough sketch of the lower levels and a pencil profile of Jones was more ammunition than they'd had three hours ago, but it didn't help one bit with the wall they were staring at presently. Jack Hudson refrained, with some difficulty, from driving a fist through the glass of the fire hose compartment.

"I'm getting nothing," Bobby said, frustration heavy in his voice. We know they were right here _somewhere_; unfortunately, Orange Team had a bunch of newbies… the only two who were paying attention to the details of their surroundings are the ones stuck down there. I swear, Quantico needs to outfit all graduates with camera implants for the first two years…"

"Well, we need to do something," D commented. He spoke into the radio. "Sue, ask Elaine if she remembers exactly _where_ the entrance to the lower levels is." The interpreter in the van relayed the message, which Sue relayed to the chemist.

Elaine nodded. "Yes; I'm sorry," she said, "I forgot until I saw it over your camera just now. That fire hose station; it's covering the door."

"Bloody hell," Bobby muttered softly. "We've been standing here staring at it."

Jack actually did slap the metal compartment this time. "Well, how do we get in?"

There was silence on the radio for a moment; then Elaine's voice came again, a bit bewildered. "There used to be a panel just under the station…" She gasped as D's camera moved down to the spot she'd indicated. "It's gone!" He must have taken it down. Now there's no way to get it open, except from the _inside_."

"Aww, you don't know who you're dealing with, sheila," Bobby drawled. "All it takes is the proper sledgehammer. Or, in this case, blowtorch."

"Only one problem with that, O Demolition God." D's voice belied the light comment. "This complex is in the process of being sold. Searching it was one thing. We have to track down and get permission from the current owner, and possibly the _buyer, _before we can do so much as unscrew a light bulb. Unless you want Randy on your back for the rest of your natural life."

**------**

**Author's note: Yes, I do realize that in real life the FBI likely would break down the wall and ask questions later... but then the story would be over too quickly. Minor artistic license has been taken in the name of suspense... sue me. :-D ;-)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

"How _very_ cozy." His voice oozed around them and brought them both out of their thoughts. "And here I thought all that heat between you two before was just cover."

Myles glared at Jones, who was lounging in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a manic gleam in his eye. "What do you want, Jones?" he ground out. "Enough with the sideshow." He purposely left his arm around Tara, not caring what the man thought.

"Oh, but Agent Leland, you must know your Shakespeare," Jones replied. "'The play's the thing.' You can't truly expect that, having the two of you as a captive audience—" He chuckled at his own joke. "—I'd not savor the victory a bit."

"Of course not," Tara muttered under her breath. "Heaven forbid you can go five minutes without stroking your own ego." Myles squeezed her arm in a gentle warning, but the damage had been done.

Dan Jones smiled, his eyes trailing over her as they had a year ago. "You know, my dear, I've had a year to consider much softer things to be _stroking_, and the fact that your razor wit hasn't dulled one iota makes it all the more appealing."

He took a step toward her, only to find blue-grey fire blocking his path; a considerable feat, seeing as Myles had to come _over_ Tara's legs in a single move to place himself between her and Jones. He was tempted to do more, but the first rule of thumb was to stay alive, at least long enough to ascertain the situation. He didn't plan on taking the chance of getting himself shot by someone in the hallway, leaving Tara alone at the mercy of Jones and who knew at this point how many others.

"Not going to happen while I'm here, Jones," Myles hissed. "So put your ego… among other things… away."

"Such _wonderful_ chivalrous notions! But of course you'll protect milady's honor." His eyes narrowed. "Even to the point of becoming the target in her place?"

Myles heard a soft intake of breath behind him; they'd already talked about this, but now that the moment had presented itself… He turned briefly, meeting her eyes and watching her silently until he saw her eyes close and her head nod just slightly. _"Ok."_ _Tara, we'll get through this, I promise. He's just going to slap me around a little. No big deal. _He turned back to Jones. "Need you even ask?" he said evenly.

"Well, then, no time like the present. Do join me." Jones motioned out the door. "My associates have aided me in coming up with something very special for you, Agent Leland."

Tara's eyes were wide as she watched her partner step through the door; _Oh, dear God above, keep us from too much harm,_ she prayed silently. She saw him glance back at her, and his hands moved slightly, out of Jones' sight line. STAY STRONG. WHAT COME COME. YOU MY HEART FRIEND.

It didn't matter that Sue would have made no sense of it; Tara understood, and that was all that mattered. She sat down on the cot and waited, her heart fearing the worst.


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

His own heart skipped a beat when Jones motioned him, not into some secluded area, but the lab right next to the cell. He could see Tara, her back to the window, and he hoped the glass was thick enough to block any sound. He didn't know what Jones had planned, but the man's utter merriment about the whole situation left Myles himself feeling a bit sick. _Maybe I misjudged…_

FBI hostage training was most thorough, but there were variables that could never be fully accounted for. The blindfold was expected; so were the restraints at his wrists and ankles. But instead of behind his back, his hands were tied in front to something at about shoulder-level, so he was standing, his ankles bound about hip-width apart.

"You know," Jones was saying, "Ever since the first day I met you, I've wanted to rip that smug attitude right out of you. How fortunate that Jet here is a student of more… shall we say, _primitive_ techniques, because now I get my wish."

In the split-second before the pain ripped across his back and around to nip at his chest, the sound he heard would have brought him to his knees, if he'd been able. Quantico never said _anything_ about _this_…


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

Wssssh…..SNAP! The sound alone would have brought her head around, but the cry that escaped her partner's throat had her flying to the window of the cell. When the scene in front of her finally registered, it was all she could do to not turn away and wretch her guts out. _Oh, Myles…_

She'd heard Jones' comment about ripping the attitude out of her partner; what she hadn't realized is that he'd meant it _literally_, and had found one of the most horrifying ways invented to do it.

A bullwhip— fifteen feet long and designed to flay a man alive, she watched it wrap her friend in a streamer of red fire from his right shoulder to his left hip, slashing through his T-shirt as if with shears, and laying his back open a good half-inch deep, curling around like a false lover's caress to tear into his chest as well.

Wssssh…..SNAP! She heard herself scream his name, but nothing else registered while she watched in utter horror as it struck again… and again… ten times. Jones' face grew more delighted with each lash he witnessed, and he actually looked over at her once, a sadistic smirk across his lips.

By now, of course, her partner wasn't moving, and he crumpled when one of Jones' goons, a burly blond with a crew cut, untied the ropes and dragged him back to the cell. Dumping Myles in the middle of the doorway, the man paused to leer at Tara. Her rage boiled over, and she lunged, catching the man's cheek with her nails — _Hopelessly female, but hey, you use what works. Hopefully the jujitsu will kick in later, if there's another chance._

Unfortunately, she didn't get a chance to try again; Benny grabbed her by the wrists and stepped on her feet at the same time. He weighed in at about two-fifty; she cried out as her feet were nearly crushed.

"Now, darlin'," he crooned. "Don't get so impatient; Danny's got plenty of time for you. And I sure hope he's willing to share." He shoved her back into the cell, nearly landing her on top of Myles. The door hissed shut.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Yes, I realize it's been awhile... a lot of stuff going on right now... thank you for bearing with me.

Remeber that warning about how dark this story is? We're about to head into a very long, very dark tunnel...

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oOo

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**Sixteen**

"Myles!" She turned and had to take a breath; what was left of his T-shirt, which wasn't much, was bright red, and his back was a mass of torn flesh. The whip had cut deeply enough that there was a good possibility he'd sustained some muscle damage as well.

He was out cold, which was probably fortunate, since he'd be in agony if he were conscious. She knew there was also a danger of infection, from the bits of fabric now imbedded in the lacerations; she needed to clean his wounds soon, or find something to use for an antiseptic.

Her eyes fell on the jersey he'd discarded earlier; the wool-blend fabric wouldn't be good as a washcloth, because it would likely leave as many particles as she cleaned out. But then she had an idea; she hauled her own jersey back over her head, then removed her cotton tank shirt underneath. She then finished putting on the jersey and dragged the cot over near the small sink.

Leaving her tank shirt to soak under the running water, she struggled to get him over to the cot. He wasn't overly brawny, but his height made it difficult. By the time she got him settled, she was covered in blood as well, since the lash had cut open several areas of his chest, too. But it was his back that was the primary concern.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let more than a few fall; he needed her help right now, not her tears. She wrung out her tank shirt and gently laid it over the worst part of his back, dabbing at the lacerations instead of rubbing, rinsing the shirt several times when it got too bloody. When she knew she'd done as much as she could, she allowed herself to cry for him, stroking his hair gently, offering comfort even though she knew he didn't hear or feel any of it.

"How _very_ touching." Jones' voice behind her made her freeze. "And here I thought the two of you were only work partners. It does seem he goes a bit deeper in your heart than that."

"We're _friends_," she snapped. "And, for your information, I'd be as concerned for any of my other teammates as well."

"Indeed?" He smiled. "I think I'd like to test the validity of _that_ statement. Because most _friends_ I know don't caress each other with their hands or their eyes like you two." He closed the distance between them as her eyes went wide, and hissed in her face. "Why don't we just wait until your teammate wakes up and go a second round? I'd love to hear you scream again. And him."

Her heart wrenched; then her eyes narrowed as an idea flashed into her mind. "You know full well he won't survive another of your 'sessions,'" she said evenly. "Unless you let me help him now." Some deep part of her soul wanted to know _what_ she was doing, but she ignored it. "You don't want this over so quickly, or you would have just shot us while we were unconscious."

"And what do _I_ get in return for allowing you to help him?" He slid a finger over her shoulder.

It took all she had to suppress the shudder; she knew what he wanted, and she'd make sure he had a fight every step of the way. "Exactly what you want," she replied. "More time to vent your revenge." She swallowed the bile in her throat and made herself say the next words. "And the satisfaction of hearing me beg."

He smiled. "But it's not _only_ revenge I want, lovely lady. And certainly not simply to hear you beg for his life. Tell me, exactly what _would_ you be willing to do to ensure your… _friend_… here doesn't face Jet's enjoyment of historical artifacts any more?" The shock in her eyes at his nerve made the smile grow wider. "I'll tell you what, Agent Williams. I'll go find the first aid kit from this floor, and bring it back in, oh, say, ten minutes. During that time, you should consider just how deeply you care for Agent Leland. It may be that… friendship… has the power to sacrifice what a mere working relationship would never consider."

The door slid shut, leaving the petite agent staring after Jones, her heart as confused as her mind. Then she looked at the man in front of her, who had just braved the unthinkable to protect her. Tears fell as she stroked his hair again, and wrestled with her heart. A year ago, they were friends; closer than most, but with nothing more profound than a deep affection between them.Now… she hadn't thought about it much, hadn't searched her heart in a long time.

_What are my feelings for you now? _she wondered. _Is it just the situation here, or has it been growing over the past year? The thought of letting them do any more to you tears me apart, but what he's asking… it makes me ill, and I don't want you to hate me for giving in to what you were protecting me from. Can I bear to let you go, when I have the means to protect you for a change?_

She could see the clock in the lab area; the minutes were ticking by faster than they had a right to, given the enormity of her thoughts.

Then, in her mind's eye, she saw the last evening they'd spent together…

"_Are you okay?" He placed his hands on her shoulders as she stood at the window, staring at the lights her neighbors wouldn't take down until Valentine's Day. In the rash of December cases, neither of them had ever gotten their own Christmas lights up._

_She nodded, a deep sigh escaping her. "Yeah," she replied. "It just seems like we get more and more lost from real life. Work intrudes, takes over." She leaned back against him, enjoying the fact that they were so comfortable with each other. "When was the last time you went out with friends from a circle other than work?"_

"_1988." He smiled against her hair as she laughed softly._

"_See what I mean?" she said. "It's like we're in a bottle, stuck in this tiny little universe while the rest of the world whizzes by."_

"_Would you trade it? Go do something else with your life? I don't think I could." He turned her around to face him. "Besides, I like_ _the friends I have at work. Even Bobby."_

_She teased a brow at him. "Even Sue?" She laughed as he started to protest. "I know; I was just teasing you. I like them, too. I just… working for the Bureau doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for outside relationships, friend or otherwise."_

_He brushed a curl out of her face. "Am I hearing a few regrets?"_

"_Maybe," she admitted. "I'm not saying I want to leave the Bureau or anything like that, I just…"_

"_Tell me what you think you're missing out on." He turned her to face the window again, allowing her to think without his eyes on her. He leaned against the sill, absently rubbing her shoulders as he'd done a hundred times._

_She settled against him, relaxing at his touch and letting her mind wander to answer his question. "I guess… spending Sunday mornings curled up in bed with someone to talk to besides my cat; evenings going over the bills when we'd rather be dancing; little handprints all over the white cabinets; just a thousand little mundane things that make up a life outside of work."_

_It had jolted her then; every scene she was describing held in it the same person standing beside her; but the feeling was still comfortable, not firework-blazing desire. Confused, she decided to table the thought…_

_Until he'd dropped a single, gentle kiss on her cheek; and she realized that her heart had surrendered months ago, in the middle of a case or the middle of a chess game, she wasn't sure. It had sweetly, subtly become his, and now she wasn't sure what to do with the realization. …_

Tara wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and looked at him again, a resolute sensation building in her. _To realize, and never have the chance to tell you… I couldn't bear it. I would do… anything… to give us that chance._

"Ding, ding, ding." Jones' voice rasped across her thoughts, a needle scratched across a beloved record. She turned to see him in the doorway, a first aid kit and a few linens of some sort behind him in the doorway. "So, what's it going to be?"

She glared at him, wanting to wrap her hands around his throat for stomping on the epiphany she'd just had. "You're a pain in the rear, you know that?" she snapped.

"Indeed," he chortled, enjoying her quandary. "One could say I will soon be a pain in many other places, where _both_ of you are concerned. Your decision will simply affect to what degree."

He closed in on her, grabbed her roughly by the hair and forced her face upward. "Let me spell it out in very clear terms. I _will_ have you, Agent Williams, even if I have to do it over his dead body; but if you walk out of this cell under your own power, right now, then I will spare your partner any further agony. I don't expect you to be a willing participant, and I already have the restraints in place. But _if_, knowing full well what's coming, you do not fight me while you are being restrained, then we have a bargain, and your precious partner will feel no more of the lash." He let go of her and stepped back. "What's it going to be?"

She stared at Jones for a long moment, loathing him with every fiber of her being. Then she turned and gazed at the figure lying prone on the cot. She moved to the sink and soaked her tank top one more time, then gently laid it over his back to cool the pain more. She let her fingers drift through the tangled blond of his hair, and made her choice.

Her gaze dropped. _Forgive me, my… friend…_


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

When they shoved her back in the cell a while later, Tara's first instinct was to curl up in a ball and cry. But she knew she couldn't; every second she put off cleaning her partner's wounds, the greater the likelihood that infection would set in and there would be nothing she could do if that happened.

She knelt by the cot and opened the first-aid kit. _I can't let him know what I've done,_ she thought as she tore the linens into manageable-sized pieces. _Not until I come up with something to tell him that he'll believe… or at least accept._

Which wouldn't be easy. She began to clean the torn flesh, trying to bury the emotions that were threatening to engulf her…

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oOo

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_A/N: I realize I could post all these short scenes together, but doing it this way gives you as a reader more of a time sense... I won't wait too long between posts, but I want to give all those who have honored me with their attention the same chance to "live it."_


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

Pain… radiating from several points, he couldn't tell where it started and ended. All he knew was that he felt like he'd been wrapped around a very rough telephone pole, backwards. There was fire at points on his chest as well, but it was nothing compared to the inferno racing across his back.

He groaned and tried to roll over, but a gentle hand held him down and the sensation of a cool cloth worked its way over his wounds.

"Stay still, Myles. Let me finish cleaning this."

"Tara?" His mind grasped onto her voice and held tight, groping his way back from the darkness. "How long...? What are you...?" He opened his eyes to find his t-shirt in shreds on the floor by the single cot in their cell, along with several blood-stained cloths. The pain across his back was dulling to a slow, throbbing burn.

"You've been out for a couple hours. And if you don't hold still, you're going to go into shock. I managed to… finagle a few supplies off our 'benefactors' out there."

Her voice was quiet, the pause nearly infinitesimal, but something in it made Myles uneasy. It was almost as if she'd rehearsed her answer. "They don't strike me as— ouch— overly generous. How'd you manage it?"

"My subtle charm. Here, let me help you sit up so I can bandage this."

_Too bright, too forced._ He was quiet as she wrapped a length of gauze loosely around his chest and back, covering the worst of the open welts. Then he looked at Tara, and realized she wouldn't meet his gaze. The uneasiness got worse, blocking the worst of the pain for the present.

"Tara." He softly caught her chin in his hand and tipped her face up. "Look at me. What did you do? Was Jones looking for information of some kind? What did you tell him?" _Start with the easy question first and pray that's all it is. Because it was never information he wanted from you, Tara. And I pray you didn't… not for me…_

There was the very briefest shudder across her shoulders; then her eyes met his and flashed in mild outrage. "I'd never sell out the Bureau, Myles. You should know better."

_No, but would you sell out…? _He couldn't even think it. "Then what _did_ you 'bargain' with?" He was starting to feel a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the marks that crisscrossed his flesh.

"It doesn't matter," Tara said, wincing slightly as his hand tightened on her chin. "Myles, please."

"It _does _matter," he retorted, his voice going soft in its intensity. "_What did you bargain with?_" His heart plunged as her gaze dropped again, and her voice broke slightly.

"T-the only thing… he would take," she replied softly.

Shock and pure agony ripped through his gut. "No! Tara... _no_. You can't—"

"Too late. They're not going to hurt you anymore. I won't let it happen." She wouldn't meet his eyes again, no matter how he angled her face. She was obviously fighting to keep her voice light. "Hey, can't a girl make a decent sacrifice for her partner?"

They were his own words, from the inn, but the context had Myles wanting to punch something— preferably Jones, and he doubted he'd stop at a single punch.

"There's not a single _decent_ thing involved in what you're describing," he snapped. "Do you mean to tell me that you let that cretin...?" He trailed off as another shudder ran across her shoulders, this one far more pronounced. A second wave of nausea hit, along with a silent string of curses his proper family would have been shocked to hear. "Oh my g— Tara, it was _only_ Jones? Wasn't it?"

Her shoulders shook, and she couldn't answer. She stood and moved to the opposite end of the enclosure, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. After a breath, she turned and faced him, and the depth of her eyes shook him to the core. "Myles, I wasn't going to sit and watch while they beat you to death with that thing. I _couldn't_. At least this way, we have a chance of surviving long enough to get out of here, or for the team to find us."

"Do you mean to tell me—?" He couldn't say it.

Tara held out her wrists, and he saw the raw skin there. "It wasn't part of the original deal, but I obviously didn't have much choice," she replied testily. She winced as he crossed to her, knelt at her feet, grabbed hold of her right ankle and slid her pant leg up slightly, his breath drawing in painfully at the sight of the raw marks there as well. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Myles… please…"

He just stared up at her for a minute, unable to grasp the degree of sacrifice she was making... for him. "Tara, there's got to be another way. If you think _I_ can sit and watch—"

"It's not in this lab," she whispered. "You won't have to."

He stood quickly, a slight groan escaping as he did so. "Like— ugh— like that makes a whole lot of difference?" His voice cracked in despair. "Tara... no."

She led him back over to the cot and placed a finger to his lips. "Myles, _listen_ to me. Please." When he made no move to reply further, she struggled to meet his gaze and he knew she saw the horror in the blue-grey depths. "The... damage... they can do to me isn't something that will require a first-aid kit, which we wouldn't have if I'd refused. If you can handle simply holding me... after... and making it all go away..."

"_Go away!_" His voice broke again, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, ignoring the fire that flashed across his back at the movement. "Tara, do you hear yourself? Do you really think I can just let you go off and allow yourself to be—"

He stopped abruptly, then knew he had to finish, to drive the reality of it into her head. His voice quieted to a gentle anguish. "Allow yourself to be repeatedly g-gang-raped just to keep me alive? My g— I _can't_, Tara. I'd rather they killed me outright."

Tears started down her cheeks. "And you think I can allow you to do that just because you want to protect me? It's not always the man who gets to make a great sacrifice for others, Myles. You are my partner and my _best friend_. I couldn't live with myself if I watched you die when I could do... something... to prevent it. Just be here for me, please. I don't think I could bear it if this makes you see me... worse. It's probably the most unselfish thing I've ever done in my life."

One corner of her mouth quirked just slightly, though it never reached her eyes. "And if you tell me you're not worth it, I'm going to slug you right in the middle of your back."

"It would hurt less than sitting here wondering what atrocities you're going through." Myles watched her eyes widen as that thought registered; it apparently hadn't crossed her mind at the time. "You know this is exactly what Jones wants... to torture us both, individually and through each other. We can't let him."

"So the answer is to let him torture only _you_?" Her voice rose slightly in anger. "I can't."

"Tara..."

"No." She laid a hand gently on his shoulder, trying to avoid the lacerations. "Myles, if I balk at this point, he'll finish what he started with you, and then finish with me anyway. At least this way there's some… purpose." She wiped at the tear she saw forming in the corner of his eye. "You know it's the _only way_ for us to bide our time."

She was right; as much as it killed him to admit it, he knew she was right. They'd played right into Jones' hands, exactly the way he'd wanted. "How _much_ time?" He heard the hoarse whisper of his own voice; the mask he'd have tried to put up was completely gone now; not that it had been firmly in place for over a year now. He looked at her, and the ache in his soul was almost unbearable. "How long... how much do we.. do _you_... have to endure?"

"That's up to us, and the team," she replied softly, her hand on his cheek. "As long as you're not going to turn away from me, I— I can endure a lot."

Myles was quiet for a long moment, caught in a wave of sheer horror and sickness at what was transpiring, what he had no power to stop. And then he looked into her eyes, and knew he could never turn away from such… there was no word appropriate. He drew her tightly against his chest, ignoring the pain of his injuries, and let her cry the nightmare out as much as she could. "I'm here, Tara," he whispered into her hair. "I'm always here." _I've failed you miserably, but I'm here for as long as you need me…_


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

Dan Jones watched the monitor, as his two companions eagerly reviewed the events of the last hour. His dark eyes narrowed at the sight of Agent Williams in her partner's embrace. _Oh, yes,_ he thought gleefully, _There's a great deal more here that meets the eye. And they don't even realize it – or he doesn't, not yet. Let's see just how much this little bond can take._

He swung around. "Will you two shut up already? We're not finished."

"What else you got in mind, boss?" Jet leaned against the lab table, a stupid grin on his face. "I don't think it can get much better than that."

"Yeah," Benny chuckled. "Unless you want to make Mr. 'GQ' in there watch next time."

Jones smiled serenely, running a hand through the touch of grey at his sideburns. "He doesn't need to see what's going on for it to drive him off the edge. But… let's give them the night to 'recover' a bit, then up the ante…"


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

Dimitrius Gans had been with the Bureau for nearly fifteen years. He was more than aware of the red tape that could hold up an investigation. But it was much harder to take when the holdup was costing them precious time in getting two of their teammates out of heaven only knew what…

"Marty, there's got to be _something_ we can do!" Jack's voice on his phone was rising rapidly in both pitch and volume. "I don't care if they're sunbathing nude in Acapulco, somebody better get their backside in here and _let us in that place_!"

D walked over and laid a hand on the younger agent's shoulder as Jack sighed heavily at something Marty Pavone was telling him. "I know, Marty. But I've got two agents missing at the hands of a guy who would love nothing better than to torture them both just for the hell of it. You've gotta help me do _something_." He sighed again as he hung up.

"Yelling at Marty's not going to help," D said evenly.

Jack slammed a hand on top of his computer monitor. "I _know_, D. I just— Myles had a bad feeling about this the whole time, and I swore to him we'd tear the place apart if they went missing. So to have to sit here and wait while the brass round up someone for "pre-authorization"… Ooh, I'm gonna glue Randy's forms to his _head_ the next time I see him!"

D chuckled at the visual image that statement conjured up, but it faded as he glanced at the clock. It was midnight; Myles and Tara had been missing for nearly twelve hours now. The frustration at having to wait was taking its toll on all of them.

They'd made use of the time, though; Elaine Schmidt had helped them by putting them in touch with the former head of Security at VanTex; the man had been most helpful, even providing the blueprint of the lower levels that had been left off the public-access copy. When they could finally go in, they'd know what to expect, at least in terms of layout.

Dimitrius chose not to entertain thoughts of what _else_ they might have to expect…


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty-one**

He couldn't sleep; the pain in his back made it impossible to get comfortable, and the wrenching agony in his heart was even worse. At least Jones and his goons had decided that a decent night's sleep was conducive to whatever other plans they had for their captives; it had been eerily silent for more than five hours now. The clock in the lab read 4 a.m.

_Tara…_ He couldn't figure out his feelings, because they were too jumbled. Awe at her courage, agony for what she'd been through, all wrapped up in a crushing guilt that he'd failed to do as he'd promised— protect her. That she was worried that he'd see her worse for her decision left him staggered, that someone cared _that_ deeply about his opinion, even his closest friend. And that she still _wanted_ to turn to him for comfort left him utterly confused.

Myles looked down at his partner, curled up next to him, her tears finally given over to sleep. On an impulse, he ran the back of his fingertips down her cheek; a new rush of horror swept over him as he brushed past a line of what looked like adhesive; he hadn't noticed it before in his anguish.

_They taped your mouth. That proves conclusively that information was never in the mix_, he thought bitterly. _Oh, Tara. What have you done? Why would you ever make such a bargain? We talked at the inn about devaluing yourself… you are worth so much more, and I could never repay such… _

The words wouldn't come; he swallowed back the heaviness in his heart and made himself a promise: If they made it out of this alive, he'd spend the rest of his days making sure she never regretted saving his life.


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty-two

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**

_7 a.m. …_ Bobby Manning tried to stretch the kinks out of his back as he dropped his feet off his desk to the floor. He automatically reached for a paper clip, and without looking up snapped it between his fingers toward the desk adjoining his own; only when a _clink_ hit the floor next to Myles' chair did the Aussie fully remember what was going on.

He got to his feet with a heavy sigh, heading for the coffee station and a very large cup of "heavily leaded." Against his will, his eyes strayed to the fuzzy pens and puzzle cubes littering Tara's desk.

An undercurrent of anger was starting to churn its way through his gut. _So help me, if he doesn't keep an eye on her... _His thoughts were interrupted by Jack, who had just come into the Bullpen.

"Jones has help," the shorter agent announced. "Two guys he used to pal around with in prison got paroled a week ago. Word has it he used to talk up this 'hot little Fed' he'd met. We just got word that not only have the two guys, Benny Jenssen and Jim Packard, nicknamed 'the Jet' for some reason,—"

"Benny and the Jet? You're kidding me." Bobby almost grinned. "Talk about dated music."

Jack rolled his eyes. "—missed their last P.O. meetings, they were seen driving away from Maryland Prison Center the day Jones escaped."

D, Sue and Lucy were just coming in, and Jack swung to include them. "We've got some new info to track down," he said.

"Good deal," Dimitrius said. "I just got a call from Marty Pavone. The parties involved are setting up for a phone conference as we speak. I'll make sure they let us in."

Jack's eyes flared with hope, then settled to grim determination. "Let's move. I want them home _today_."


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-three

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**

"Good morning!" The cheerful swagger in Jones' voice had Myles ready to rip the thief's tongue out. "I do hope you slept well. I know the accommodations aren't quite the Renaissance Hotel, but then, I wasn't truly expecting to have _both_ of you as my guests." He set a tray with two Styrofoam cups and a couple of bagels on the floor. "And I'm afraid Room Service is on strike."

Myles didn't even bother to reply; he knew that Jones was just trying to bait him. He was exhausted, and his nerves were taut from both the pain in his back and the whole situation.

After a moment of silence, Jones chuckled. "Where _did_ that polished vocabulary and a comeback for everything disappear to? I'm going to have to wake up your lovely counterpart just to have some stimulating conversation." His eyes strayed to Tara, who was still asleep.

"Drop it." The blue-grey eyes were like ice now, matching the glacial tone of his voice. "Your little 'arrangement' is done, Jones. You want someone to toy with, you deal with _me_. Tara's out of it."

Dan Jones' laugh echoed around the small cell. "What on_ earth_ makes you think I'd agree to a bargain like that? I have everything going _exactly_ the way I want it, Agent Leland. You have no bargaining power here anymore. And don't be concerned about breakfast – I want you both wide awake, believe me." He paused as he stepped out the door. "Enjoy the quiet while it lasts. My compatriots can be a bit… greedy… when they've had a sample of something they like."

The door slid shut, and Myles was left with a towering rage and nothing to vent it at. The mounting stream of silent invectives vanished, however, when he felt a shudder run through his partner. His hand dropped to her shoulder, and he brushed at the tears on her cheek.

"Thank you for trying," Tara whispered. "I knew he'd never go for it, though."

"You were awake for all that?"

"Yes." She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Myles, he's not going to bargain anymore. You know that as well as I do. We just have to hang on a little longer." She felt him tense, and placed a hand on his arm. "There's nothing else we can do."

"I can render him unconscious and possibly impotent when that door opens again," the Harvard grad growled. They'd long since given up being careful with their conversation; it was obvious Jones had the room bugged, and there wasn't much more he could use against them than he already had.

Tara didn't smile. "Okay, 'Jackie Chan'… practice run. Let's see you move to stop me from getting to that door right now." She darted off the cot.

As Myles lunged for her, the movement ripped open whatever scar tissue had formed overnight, and he doubled over on the floor in agony, his breath coming in gasps.

She returned and knelt at his side, brushing his hair out of his face. "That's what I thought," she said softly. "All the determination in the world isn't going to add up to the _ability_ to attack him. Though I lo— appreciate you trying." She slipped an arm under his, avoiding his back, and helped him back onto the cot. "Come on, let's do a damage assessment and get you bandaged up again before he gets back."

"I'm sorry." The words were soft and pained. "I'm supposed to protect—"

"_Us._ The unit. The team." She couldn't bring herself to get angry with him over it, simply shook her head in frustration. The issue didn't come up often, but the "chivalry" that was ingrained in him from birth, along with typical FBI male thinking, occasionally overwhelmed his respect for and trust in her abilities. She couldn't fault him for giving in to it during a situation such as this.

She reached over and picked up the tray. "Likely the coffee's tepid and the bagels are stale, but hey…" After handing a cup to him, she moved to sit behind him and began to check his back. Her hands moved gently, pulling the soiled bandages away and then cleaning the deep gashes again. "You know," she murmured as she worked, "it just occurred to me that we never have gone to see _La Bohéme_, like you promised me months ago."

Myles swung his head around to stare at her incredulously. Then he realized what she was doing, and smiled. "Well, then, we'll have to remedy that when we get out of here, won't we? And I expect to see you dressed to the nines; the opera tends to frown upon jeans and sweaters."

Tara wrinkled her nose at him. "Just for that smart remark, you're coming to see the Rolling Stones with me next month – torn jeans are a requirement. And _I_ get to do your hair." She laughed softly as he grimaced, not sure if it was from the image or pain. She finished up the fresh bandage and leaned around his arm. "For your information, as soon as you mentioned it I went out and found a dress that will suffice; basic black, elegant and sophisticated, complete with the obligatory pearls."

"Now _there's_ a sight I'd pay good money to see." Dan Jones was back in the doorway, a delighted smile on his face. Then his expression hardened. "Unfortunately, you have a pressing appointment right now. Let's go."

She started to stand, but Myles caught her by the shoulders, his eyes pleading with her. _Don't, Tara. Don't let him do this to you again._

She glanced at Jones, then made a second decision. Turning back to her partner, she touched his cheek gently, then met his gaze. "I have to," she whispered to him, and stepped away, squaring her shoulders and walking out the door.

Jones paused in the doorway, and turned back to the Harvard grad. "You know," he remarked casually, "It seems to me that this runs far and beyond a 'partner's' sacrifice. You might want to consider _why_ it is that she's willing to do _anything_ to keep you on this planet."

Blue-grey eyes stared in stunned silence as the door slid shut.


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-four

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**

She kept her gaze on the floor, trying not to think about what was coming. Still, she'd overheard Jones' parting words to Myles, and wished desperately they hadn't been said. She had no idea if her partner realized—

She jumped as a pounding on the door she'd just left started; not just pounding, but the sound of someone trying with every ounce of strength they had left to break through a wall.

Jones chuckled. "Seems he finally figured it out. Men can be so slow sometimes."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I apologize for the delay. I'm going to post the next three scenes all at once because they take place so quickly one after the other. So manybe this will make it worth the wait. Fair warning, though: We are now entering darkest parts of the story... the "highline T" rating is in full force. Nothing is spelled out explicitly, but the material is dark, intense and NOT for younger readers.

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**oOo**

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**Twenty-five**

He sank against the wall thirty minutes later, totally spent, his back on fire even worse than before, and the new pain of bruised hands and bleeding fingernails simply adding to it. He'd tried _everything_ to get out, even slamming the cot against the observation window several times; but to no avail. The walls were staring, mocking him, taunting him for what he'd never _imagined_ could be true… and now that he'd stopped moving, the thoughts and feelings that had dogged his every movement crashed over and threatened to overwhelm him.

_No… it can't… Jones is just trying to... _It all tumbled roughly around in his head, adding to the physical agony he'd just put himself through. Myles hadn't considered that… her reasoning… could be anything more than just…

His hands clenched in the blond strands of his hair as he tried unsuccessfully to block out the thief's last comment to him. _"It seems to me that this runs far and beyond a 'partner's' sacrifice. You might want to consider why it is that she's willing to do anything to keep you on this planet."_

"No…" It came out from the depths of his soul, even as he remembered the look in her eyes just before she left. _"I have to,"_ she'd said, and her hand had moved ever so slightly against his cheek.

"We're just friends… we established that a year ago…" The whisper echoed off the walls of the cell. Then his heart jolted as he remembered the hallway…

"_Tara!" he yelled again. _

_She looked up, then saw that Myles' compartment was also filling with a white mist. Eyes locked, they realized at the same moment what was happening. She met his palm against the glass with her own._

_In that moment, all he'd known was her, her face in his thoughts, her soul entwined with his… and he now realized that it had been that way for some time. Whether they were tracking down terrorists or playing miniature golf in the rain, they were a part of each other, deeper and richer and far more than they'd been at the inn… a simple friendship had grown into something else right under their noses…_

A deep groan escaped him. "Nooooo…" The realization made everything a hundred times worse; it wasn't just his partner, his friend, that he'd failed, but a woman he hadn't even realized he was deeply in love with… a woman who was at this moment…

"_Tara!!!!_" The agony drove him back to his feet and he rammed his fists onto the observation glass again. "Tara…" The roar became a desperate whisper, and he slid bonelessly down the glass to his knees, his face against the smooth surface of the wall. "No…" Tears burned, and he almost gave in to the wrenching sobs— instead, he channeled it into blazing fury and a stream of muttered Russian curses aimed at Dan Jones and his minions.

"You do realize that these little rooms were designed to prevent _viruses_ from escaping through the cracks, Agent Leland. You're a tad larger than a virus." Jones lounged against the open doorway, his arms folded over his chest and a sadistic smirk on his face.

He chuckled at the venomous look the agent was giving him. "Still, it was most enjoyable to watch as you tried your hardest." He swaggered over and pulled Myles' hair back to scrutinize his face, smiling smugly when the agent offered no resistance. "You're really quite the mess now. A far cry from the polished 'James Markham' I came to know and love. Hands hurt, do they? I'm sure your partner will care for them when she gets back. My associates shouldn't be much longer. You know, it's too bad I didn't think to set a camera up in there as well. It must be rather boring out here all by yourself."

"You son of a—" Myles gathered his strength and started to lunge for Jones, only to find himself staring down the barrel of his own Glock .45.

"Temper, temper," Jones purred. "If you're not alive to offer her some 'comfort,' how long do you _really_ think she'd last?"

_I can't… can't leave her now… as much as I want to tear him apart… _"Jones, I swear," Myles growled, sheer rage blocking every ounce of pain, "when I get out of here, I'm going to _personally_ make sure you pay dearly for every sadistic thing you're doing. Bureau ethics or not."

"But that's just it," Jones replied, a smile crossing his face. "Either you escape and kill me, thus shattering your precious career, or you will both die right here, tortured by both your own pain and the demoralization of watching each _other_ tortured for your sake. Either way, I win."

Jet and Benny hauled Tara into the room just then, tossing her onto the floor in a heap, where she curled up into a ball, sobbing. Jones stood and gave her a pitying look, then turned his gaze back to Myles.

"Do enjoy the discovery you've just made, and the time you have left. It won't be long, either way."


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty-six**

D burst into the Bullpen, a piece of paper in his hand. "One court order for demolition on the VanTex premises. All they ask is that we limit our damage to the one area."

Heads popped up all around, and Jack actually smiled for the first time in nearly 24 hours. "All right," he exclaimed. "Bobby, call Mike Jarvis and every unit not currently tied down to something else." The dark eyes narrowed and lit with determined fire. "This is personal."


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty-seven**

His first thought was to sweep her into his arms and hold her until the nightmare ended, then tell her all that was in his heart. But she flinched so severely when he touched her shoulder that he didn't dare.

"Tara?" He knelt down next to her, fighting through the increasing pain in his back. She was fully clothed, again, thank heaven, though Myles was sure it was another of Jones' tactics for getting into his head – leaving a great deal to his already taxed imagination. Only her recon boots had been tossed into a corner.

This was far worse than her previous reaction, he assumed, since he'd been unconscious the last time. He tried again, his voice gentler, reaching out to barely touch her hair. "Tara, what is it?"

She pulled into herself even tighter, and the bone-deep trembling increased. "Stay away… please…"

_Oh, no…Oh, Sweet Heaven, help us… _"Will you come sit with me, at least? I promise, I won't touch you."

Tara shook her head vehemently; he could feel her slamming up a wall between them, and he didn't understand why. She'd _asked_ him to stay by her, to "make it all go away"… and now she was rejecting his attempt to do just that. He felt her slipping away from him, and knew he wasn't about to let that happen, even if it involved a little "tough love" in the process.

"Tara, I can't sit here and watch you torture yourself in silence." His voice was quiet but firm. "You matter too much to me." He leaned back, a groan escaping his best efforts, and grabbed the blanket that had gone flying off the cot when he tried to put it through the window. "Let me help you. Here; you can wrap the blanket around you, so there's no direct contact." The words sounded awkward to him, and he gave up trying to be articulate. He simply pleaded softly, "_Please_, Tara."

After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly, and he draped the blanket over her shoulders. She hid in its folds as he gently helped her to her feet, then sat her down on one end of the cot. He took the other, giving her as much space as she needed, for now.

She curled up in a ball against the corner, her face hidden; the wrenching sobs subsided into an almost unnatural silence. Myles folded his hands and rested his arms on his knees, just watching her for the moment. _She's shutting down. I have to get her to talk to me, or she'll retreat deeper. What did they do? Well, that's obvious, but something's different… something she can't, or doesn't want, to think about, even more than the— _

A thought occurred. _Or something she can't not think about… Jones has been playing head games with us since we got here… _

"Tara?" he said, very softly. "What did Jones say to you?"

A gasp ripped from her lips, and she burrowed deeper into the blanket. Myles watched her reaction, and knew his hunch was right; whatever they'd done to her this time, Jones had made it worse by oozing into her psyche as well. And he had a fair hunch as to what direction Jones would try to work in.

He knew in a flash why she was pulling away, even if he didn't know the specifics, and he wasn't about to let it happen. Moving over until he was just out of her reach, he let the quiet caress of his voice batter the wall between them. "Tara, there is _nothing_ you could do, _nothing_ that could happen here that would make me hate you. You _know_ that; Jones is lying to you, has _always_ lied to you. I'm here; I'll be here no matter what. _Tell me what happened_."

For a moment, she looked over at him, her eyes wide and frightened, but wanting to trust. Then she buried her head again. Now he moved to touch her arm through the blanket; the flinch was only slight, so he let her take her own pace in slipping into his arms. She still wouldn't look at him, but he felt her relax just enough that he knew he could start to break down the wall. Softly, he began to hum a tune that they'd often had in playing in the background during quiet evenings spent together… Dvorak's "Largo" from _The New World Symphony_.

He got through it only once before she looked up at him, her eyes dark pools of despair. "Myles, I… please don't. I can't bear this."

He sat back, stunned. "What? My trying to comfort you, to let you know I care? You've been 'bearing it' for over a year now, Tara." He heard the barest edge in his own voice that he fought to control. He wasn't sure which emotion was stronger right now; the anguish for what she'd been though, or the nearly killing rage at Jones and his friends.

"That was before—" Her voice broke, and she stood quickly, putting as much of the cell between them as she could, and burying her face in her hands again.

"Before _what_?" A sickening thought hit just then, and he dropped back onto the cot instead of following her as he'd started to. "Before I got you into this mess. Tara, I—"

"_No!_" She swung on him fiercely. "Can't you get it through your head that not everything in this world revolves around _you_? Of all the arrogant, conceited, overbearing bull—" She stopped abruptly as she saw the shock and hurt on his face. "Oh, dear God… oh, Myles, I didn't mean it…"

His gaze dropped, and his hands went back together across his knees, fighting the urge to lash back at her. It would be playing exactly the way Jones wanted them to. "Then I hope you'll tell me what you _did_ mean, since right now I'm completely confused. You toss up a brick wall, then drop it on top of me. All I want to do is help, but I suspect Jones planted a totally different notion in your head that I'd hate you or something." Now his blue-grey eyes pleaded with her. "Just _talk_ to me, Tara. Trust our friendship enough to prove Jones _wrong_."

Tears began streaming down her cheeks again, but she took a half-step toward him. "Myles… this… what… I…" She rubbed her hand over her face. "_I_ hate me; why wouldn't you…?" Fear took over, and she retreated again.

_That tears it; I've had enough._ He grabbed Tara's tank shirt off the sink, swung it over the camera he'd found while he was trying to demolish the cell, and ripped out the microphone, which prompted a wave of pain through his back, but he didn't care. Then he pulled the opaque curtain partly around the lavatory area. He didn't know what was coming, but he was damn straight not going to allow Jones an audience for it. "Tara, come here. We're _going_ to talk this out."

She glanced at his "preparations," and her eyes were wide. "But if he can't—"

"That's his problem. Besides, he's probably back in the other room rehashing—" Myles cut off the rest of his comment as a violent shudder ran through her. "Tara, I'm sorry. Come here, please. I'll try to keep from making this worse than it already is."

She was visibly shaking, but he watched his words sink in; after a moment, she calmed her tears and squared her shoulders, moving over to him with the demeanor of someone expecting to be shot, but not willing to go down cowering. She wrapped her arms around herself, unwilling to let him touch her still, and spoke, her voice low and detached.

"It wasn't any d-different than last time… the restraints, the talk going on like I wasn't even there…" She felt her partner shift angrily but pushed on, staring at a point just past his right elbow.

"But then Benny started telling them about stuff that happened before he landed in prison… several dates he'd gone on and 'struck out,' initially… but he said he went back and b-broke in… t-tied them up, gagged them…" Her voice shook slightly, and she clamped down hard on the lapse. "I guess he should have multiple charges of r-r-rape on his record, but he was bragging that none of the women had d-dared to report it… because of his 'special method'…"

Myles started to speak, but she shook her head and continued, her voice utterly lifeless. "Of course, Jet and Jones were all hyped to hear the details… and Benny said…" Now her voice broke again, and she looked at the floor. "He s-… he said 'Why just tell you when we have a v-visual aid right here?'"

A low growl escaped him, and he gripped the stainless steel sink he was leaning against to keep from grabbing her shoulders. "What did he do?"

She drew in a sharp breath, and the floodgates opened again, tears coming in great gasps. "He… he s-started to… up my leg… his m-m-mouth… and then… I wanted him to s-stop… no, no, please…" Her eyes went vacant as she relived it. "But I was gagged again… and he did this… little s-sigh… 'Jet, she's… so sweet,… you gotta…" Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her hands over her face. "They… oh, God, they t-t-took t-turns… I couldn't… it…"

He knelt in front of her and caught her shoulders finally. "Tara… you were tied down… you had no control… I don't understand… Why would you hate yourself?… Why would you think this would—?" He stopped as she faced him directly and cut him off.

"It wasn't supposed to feel _good_!" It ripped from the depths of her soul. "Oh, G—" She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. "I… c-c-ouldn't… stop… them... c-c-couldn't move... I wanted… them to stop,… and… then…suddenly…some… some… p-p-part of me… didn't—"

"Tara." His voice in her ear wasn't condemning, as she expected; it was gentle and soothing.

She heard none of it. "Benny… was s-s-saying… how he'd… d-done the same thing… to all those… other women… how they were… g-g-gasp—… by the time he… and he told them… no one… would b-believe… they'd been… raped… not when h-he'd… they'd… and they'd c-clim-maxed…" She tried to pull away again.

His hands tightened on her shoulders, his voice betraying the anger he was fighting. "And Jones? What did he say to you?"

She shifted, and he let her sit back; she drew her arms around her knees, and rested her head on them; her voice went soft and steady, filled with despair, and he had to lean close to hear her. "He… He said, 'What _would_ your intrepid partner say if he could see you now? Lying here, actually gasping, as your body craves what started as a sacrifice… I daresay that polished image he has of you would fade considerably. Tied, caught, yet your body moves toward it… what _would_ he… he… think of you?'" She collapsed into sobs again.

"Oh, Tara…" It came out an anguished whisper as he tried to hold her again.

She twisted in his arms. "No," she cried. "I can't... I don't want... d-don't deserve..."

"Tara, _stop_. It's not true." She tried to curl into herself again, but he wouldn't let her. He took her face in his hands and made her look up at him, even if she refused to meet his eyes. "It's _not true_. I don't hate you. I _can't_ hate you, ok?" He shook her gently until she looked up at him. "_Okay_??"

After a long moment, she nodded, though her eyes were still down. "Okay," she whispered.

"Okay. Now, please tell me something," he probed gently. "Without going into detail, obviously. It's important. Are you...? I mean, have you never...?" He sighed, uncomfortable about the subject matter, but needing to help her understand if she truly didn't.

She shook her head. "Once, my senior year of high school." A quietly bitter snort escaped her. "It wasn't any great learning experience; not like either of us had a clue. So if you're asking what I think you're asking, no, I'm not a virgin, but I'm not experienced at all."

"All right," he murmured against her hair, glaring at Jones, who had come to the far end of the glass, where the curtain didn't block, and was watching the scene with a delighted leer. "Then I want you to _listen_ to what I'm going to say, and more importantly, I need you to _understand_ it."

There was a long silence. Then she looked up at him finally, and the trust in her eyes humbled him beyond description. She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks a bit. "All right."

Myles looked over again at Jones; for a long moment, a silent war raged between the two. Still smirking, Jones wandered off toward his cohorts. _No doubt to rehash their exploits again… _He clamped a tight lid on his fury; his partner needed him right now.

"Tara," he said softly, brushing the tears from her cheeks, "there are certain things involved in human intimacy that are _supposed_ to feel good; it was designed that way so that we didn't die out as a race millennia ago. A few of them don't have to involve a desire toward the other party; merely a functioning nervous system and a measure of patience on their part. What they did to you was unconscionable, but your reaction was _not your fault_. It was an involuntary response; something you had no control over. Do you understand?"

"But…" Her dark eyes were anguished pools. "How… how could I _hate_ every moment of it and at the same time be… craving more? It doesn't make sense…"

"It does," he replied gently, "because your _body _craved it while your _spirit_ rejected it outright. The two don't always mesh, Tara. You know that." _I wish I knew what to say to make it all go away, to make her really understand… a little help, here, if you please, Lord…_

He took her shoulders again; the fact that she didn't flinch at all this time was reassuring. As he rubbed her arms gently, trying to drive the point home through her self-torture, an analogy suddenly occurred to him. _Thank you…_

"Tara, think of it this way: if your computer is hacked, and some wise-guy has it pulling up the Hampster Dance every time you try to open a Word file, what's your reaction? It's wrong; you're going to track him down and probably wrap his keyboard around his neck, but it's still amusing, on some subconscious level." Despite the situation, Myles had to repress a smile at the image of this petite lady on the warpath after an attack on her alter-ego.

There was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, and he continued, marveling that the words came so easily now, particularly since computer jargon wasn't really his thing. "Your body has been _hacked_, Tara. Just like a computer. Someone found a chink in your firewall and downloaded programs that you didn't want, would _never_ have downloaded yourself from them. But you also didn't realize that the programs would be so… high end, on some level. That's not the point, though. You didn't ask for them, would just as soon delete them completely. But you can't, at the moment, because you don't have the tools you need to purge the system. It's out of your control, so what do you do?"

"I—" He'd pushed the right buttons, and she was thinking. "I'd partition that part of the hard drive. Block it off, so it can't worm its way into the rest of my files." She looked up at him. "You mean, once I understand that it's not really some real desire on my part, I can… block it, leave it clear of my soul even if it takes over my body?"

He nodded, stroking her cheek. "It's not going to be easy, Tara. But for now, yes – hack your own way in and set up a temporary firewall. We'll find a way to purge the system completely, once we get out of here. But if you let it take over your soul now, by blaming yourself for involuntary reactions, the hard drive will be too corrupted to repair."

Her eyes emptied of the anguish, or at least the self-blame, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing a deep sigh. "The fact that you'd breach a very awkward subject for my sake is a good base for that firewall," she murmured. "And that you can still look at me without hating me helps."

_If you only knew how I really feel… _"I could never hate you, Tara. Certainly not over something that's not your fault. Just don't shut me out, okay? I'm here; I'm just as responsible, since the only reason you made your 'bargain' in the first place was to protect me." He wondered at it again, but chose to push it aside for the moment; he had no intention of addressing their discovery within Jones' perverted little universe. Touching his finger to her lips to still her protest, he laid a gentle kiss at her temple. "Let me help you protect _you_ as well."


	28. Chapter 28

I apologize for getting behind on this one... and since this scene is so short, I will post another one tomorrow...

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**Twenty-eight**

A small army was converging on the VanTex complex; every possible escape route was covered, and SOG had confirmed there'd been no movement at all.

"All right," Jack said to the group of nearly fifty agents gathered around. "Sweep the upper levels, just in case. We're going to head straight for that door and start cutting. Hold tight until we get through. Then we're going down there and take back what's ours."

Bobby and D exchanged a glance at the vehemence in their unit leader's voice. Nothing got Jack Hudson mad faster, or more furious, than a direct attack on his team. The trick was keeping him level-headed while he was on the rampage.

The blazing dark eyes cooled to cast-iron resolve. "We move in ten minutes. Saddle up."


	29. Chapter 29

**Twenty-nine**

"_How can you stand it?" His voice was soft in her ear._

"_What?"_

_Tara felt him stiffen beside her; they'd talked quietly for almost an hour and now she was curled up next to him as they sat on the cot, his arms around her. She looked up to find his eyes wide and stunned. Apparently he hadn't planned on or realized he was voicing the thought aloud._

"_Nothing. Never mind." He looked away._

_She pulled away a little, wrapping her arms around her legs, trying to stem the ache in her heart; he'd hung in longer than she'd ever dreamed he would, than anyone could. "I don't blame you," she whispered, lowering her head to hide the tears. "I'm glad you could handle it even as long as you did. Maybe I can persuade Jones to find a second cell…" She trailed off as his hand landed on her shoulder._

"_What? Tara, what are you talking ab—"Myles stopped suddenly as he realized. "You think… I… Oh, Tara, no. That's not what I meant."_

_She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "What I did… allowed… how stupid could I have been?"_

"_Tara." His voice held a gentle command in it, and she forced herself to look at him. "That wasn't at all what I meant. I'm sorry if you felt it was. And you're going to a separate cell over my dead body."_

_She shivered, and he drew his arm around her again. "Ok, poor choice of phrase," he murmured against her hair. "Sweetheart, my question had nothing to do with not being able to stay with you through this."_

_The endearment caught her by surprise; she glanced at him directly, and realized he wasn't even aware he'd said it. Something about it warmed her more than she felt she deserved. "Then what was your question?"_

_He took a breath. "How is it that you can stand to have me hold you, touch you at all, after what you've been through?"_

_Her eyes widened as she realized how far off base she'd been. Her eyes dropped again, her breath coming out in a sigh. "Honestly, Myles?" she replied softly. "I don't know. All I do know right now is that I feel safe here with you. It just feels different."_

"_I'm glad for that, at least." He squeezed her shoulders lightly._

"_I think maybe you're a big part of that 'partition' you told me to set up," she murmured. "I just know I could never equate your touch with them. Even if—"_

_He tipped her chin up at that, and took a chance. "Even if what, Tara? Will you tell me the real reason you agreed to this nightmare?" Her eyes widened a bit, and he continued quickly. "I don't want to address it here, but I would like to know."_

_Her breath caught; still, she supposed she owed him this much. "All right. But only if you tell me why you were trying so hard to batter down the door." She smiled a little._

"_That's easy," he said softly, fighting the urge to stroke her cheek. It was an intimate enough gesture that he didn't dare to, under the circumstances. "I realized that in the past year I've come to think of you as far more than a friend. It didn't hit me until—"_

"_Until you understood that I was protecting much more than my partner?" Tara's eyes dropped again, but differently. A slight flush came to her cheeks. "I— when Jones told me… I had to face my feelings… I didn't realize until then, either. But I knew I couldn't let them… I couldn't… without trying at least to… give us a chance to figure out…" Now she looked up. "I'm sorry; I blew one of the first rules. Lead with your head, not your heart."_

_He stared at her for what seemed an eternity; several times it seemed he started to say something, but stopped before any sound actually passed his lips. Suddenly, his eyes closed tightly, and he pressed a hand into his chest, his breath sounding pained._

"_Myles?" Tara touched his arm. "Are you okay?"_

_He nodded silently. After a moment, he sighed and opened his eyes. "I just… no one has ever… I don't…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry. I just don't have the words to express what…"_

_Her dark eyes were luminous. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."…_

He shook his head again at the memory; had the circumstances been anything other than they were, he'd have simply kissed her and let all he couldn't articulate flow in that manner. But he knew it was the wrong time, and the wrong circumstances. And he certainly wasn't going to parade it for Jones' amusement.

She was curled against his chest now, her breathing even. She had worked her magic on his back again, and then they'd wept together, purging the worst of the nightmare until she'd drifted off, her hand still twined with his. Myles marveled again at her strength, the subtle knack she had to bring his emotions to the surface as well, and he thanked God for helping them find their way together out of the darkness.

_Jack, where the hell are you guys? _The thought had crossed his mind more than once in the past thirty-six hours, but now it was edged with a very real fear that their time was running out.

It wasn't really a fear of death itself; that was a possibility they dealt with on a fairly routine basis— it just came with the job description, especially after 9/11. His main concern was that Jones would want to make the end as miserable as possible, and Myles wanted to spare the incredible woman at his side any more agony.

_If I could just get him to focus on me solely…_ That was unlikely; Jones and his cohorts were enjoying themselves far too much. _If there were just something in here… if I weren't half-crippled because of that damn whip… if…if…_

The thoughts swirled in his head, and he needed to move to keep them at bay. Gently extricating himself from her side, he paced the length of the cell, kicking aside the tray from their meager lunch—

He glanced over at Tara, regretting the noise he'd just made. Thankfully, she was still asleep, completely worn out by their ordeal. _Ugh… I don't want to wake her— _Suddenly, he stopped and stared at the piece of hard plastic, and an idea flashed into his head. _It's not much… but maybe… _

Caution was no longer an option. It was only Jones and the two others; the layout of the lab areas was likely a maze, but they really had no other choice. Waiting for the team would be a death sentence, and Myles knew that he'd rather go out fighting. So would Tara.

He heard voices getting louder in the hallway; by some stroke of Providence, they didn't pause to enter the lab. Myles grabbed the tray and flattened himself against the wall next to the door. _God, give me strength, please…_ The door slid open, and he saw Jones start into the cell first.

WHAM!! The blond agent swung with all his might, relieved that his injuries didn't hamper him as much as he'd feared, and caught Jones square in the face, sending him crashing back against his cohorts. They landed in a jumbled heap against the far wall.

"Myles?" Tara had wakened at the noise, and was still shaking off sleep when he grabbed her arm and hauled her from the cot. "Wha—?"

"Come on!" He dragged her after him into the hallway, throwing the tray at the pile of arms and legs still trying to get untangled. "Run!"

They made it to the stairwell, and he caught her arm as she started to follow him down. "No, Tara. Head for the upper levels. I'll distract them." He reached up and touched his shoulder, then smeared blood on the downward railing. "Go!!"

"I'm not leaving you down here!" Her voice cracked, and she grabbed his hand. "Come on!"

He caught her shoulders. "Tara, there's no time. Will you just _listen_ to me? Get up there; the team's there somewhere, I _know_ it! Get them down here…" He trailed off at the stubborn tears running down her cheeks.

"Look, 'chief,' it's not a year ago," she said softly, "and if you think I'm leaving you here at the mercy of those… those…" Her voice broke, and she closed the distance between them until their breath mingled. "I _can't_, Myles. I—"

He took her face in his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. "You _can_," he whispered. "And you have to." Then he lowered his mouth to hers and let the kiss say all he hadn't time for. "You go bring the team. I promise I'll still be here when you get back."

Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and she nodded. "You'd better be." And she was gone.

Myles took a breath, set up a wall to block the worst of the pain, and headed down the stairs.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thirty**

"Get off me, you idiots!" The order was followed by a stream of vulgarities. Benny and Jet redoubled their efforts to get clear, and finally they got untangled. Jones growled as he shot to his feet, wiping blood from his nose at the same time. "Get after them! Damn it!"

They raced through the hallway and paused at the elevator. The dial wasn't moving. "Maybe they're hiding here somewhere, boss," Jet ventured timidly. He'd seen Jones in a temper before, and it wasn't pretty.

"No…" Jones stared at the door next to the elevator, and his steps slowed. "Hold up. They're not getting very far, anyway." He surveyed the area carefully. "Look— there's blood on the sill there." He yanked open the door and peered in; echoed footsteps came from all directions. He smiled eerily as he stepped back and closed the door again. "They split up."

"You sure, Danny?" Benny asked. "That blood smear could just be a diversion." His boss' smile and sudden calmness unnerved the big man.

Jones' eyes narrowed. "Uh-uh. I know Agent 'Galahad' all too well. Besides, with his back torn up like that, he'd never be able to go for long. He sent her topside for backup, and he's down lower, playing hero." He grabbed Benny by the arm. "You— get upstairs and get that—" Another vulgar phrase crossed his lips. "_Alive_, Benny. I want her alive."

"What'choo and Jet gonna do about 'GQ'?" Benny had caught on now, and grinned lethally.

Jones grinned back. "We're gonna make sure Mr. High and Mighty knows _exactly_ what he just started. Or, more to the point, _ended._"


	31. Chapter 31

**Thirty-one**

She found the door and searched frantically for the access panel, her heart racing a mile a minute and her thoughts five levels below. _Hide, Myles… oh, please… you keep your promise…_

_Where IS it?!_ There was nothing surrounding the doorway, nothing within ten feet of it. Tara pounded on the door, praying that someone from the team was outside. "Hey! Help! Can anyone hear me?"

She leaned against the door, her fists bunched near her cheeks, tears of frustration streaming down her face. "_Please… somebody…help!"_

Powerful hands grabbed hers suddenly and wrenched them behind her back; twice her weight slammed her against the wall, and a voice caressed her ear.

"Now, darlin', it's not polite to walk away without a proper goodbye." Benny clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing her harder against the wall. His other hand still held both of hers captive, and she shuddered as she felt him move slowly up over them with his body, then down again. "And we were having such a good time. I so wanted another chance to watch you…" His voice dropped to a whisper, and she shuddered again at his words.

_Fight it, Tara,_ a voice in her head intoned. _Don't let it through the firewall…_ Anger took over, and she drove her fingernails into him, catching him off-guard and loosening his grip on her as he howled in protest. She ran for the stairs, knowing there was no way out now.

She'd barely touched the railing when a freight train hit her from behind. Benny shoved her almost clear down to the next landing in one shot; she landed in a heap, and he was on her before she could move.

His hand went to her throat, squeezing, and his voice was low and hard. "Danny wants you alive, you bitch, or you'd be twigs about now. But I'll be sure to make up for that during our next… 'encounter.' Let's go."

She started to struggle, but he dragged her to her feet and rammed her up against the wall again, using his body to pin her in place. "Baby doll," he hissed in her ear, "Danny and Jet are closing in on your boyfriend, and if you ain't there when they get back, Danny'll take it out on Lover Boy. Do you _really _want that?"

She shook her head; he smiled and steered her down the stairs. "That's what I thought."

As their footsteps faded, others faded in from the other side of the door. Bobby Manning grinned at his team members.

"Just a matter of time now, mates."


	32. Chapter 32

**Thirty-two**

Three levels down, the stairs stopped; he stepped out into a gloomy hallway and tossed a mental coin for direction. Ducking through the nearest open door, he leaned his forehead against the coolness of the wall and prayed Tara had made it.

He hoped that his injuries really were as superficial as they felt right now, and that it wasn't just adrenalin or nerve damage— if that was the case, he could do more damage and never know it until it was too late.

_Can't stay in one place for long,_ he thought. _But Jones knows this place better than I do; I have to find something… can't get boxed in, though…_

He turned around and scanned the office he'd entered for something, _anything_ he could use as a weapon. But the place had been cleaned out, and nothing more lethal than the file cabinet was visible. Myles sighed heavily and peeked out the door, listening intently for footsteps. It was nerve-wracking, this game of hide-but-give-them-an-idea-of-where-you-went. Still, he was buying time for Tara…

_A lab… if I can find a lab area… _He ducked out the door, all too aware that the black recon pants and red-stained bandages were useless as camouflage against the white hallways. _May as well have a flashing neon sign on me…_

He heard the stairwell door open, and two voices muttering. He sped up, ducking around a corner and spotting a door marked "Chem Lab 6-B." _Yes… maybe, just maybe…_

Scanning the room quickly, he found what he was looking for. The air ducts were both larger and built lower to the floor in here; he'd thought of both the air ducts and the suspended acoustic ceiling rails before, but there was no way to get to either with his back in the condition it was. He hadn't even dared try, for fear of incapacitating himself completely; time was what they needed, and he couldn't afford to waste any.

There was a fire extinguisher on the wall, complete with a metal bar for smashing the glass cover; he grabbed the bar with both hands and yanked it off the chain, using his legs for leverage instead of his back. Still, a groan of pain escaped, and he spent several tense moments listening for voices. Hearing none, he knelt down and pulled the penny out from under the laces of his recon boot, smiling as he remembered…

"_You put it in your shoe," she'd said, "Just slide it under the laces. It's for luck." _

"_Luck?" he'd echoed. "You're superstitious?"_

_She had looked at him with a mixture of gentle exasperation and fondness. "Can you think of any situation where you're in recon gear where a little extra luck wouldn't be welcome?"_

_He'd chuckled. "Good point." …_

Now he silently thanked her as he unscrewed one corner of the duct cover; there wasn't time to do them all, and he used the metal bar to pry the rest of the cover off. Then he moved back to the door, listening again. Hearing no sound, he crept back to the intersecting hallway, and made sure there was a clear blood trail to the lab door.

Soon, he heard Jet's whispered voice. "Dan… over here." Myles pulled the duct cover over his hiding place and waited. Absently, he rubbed the penny between his fingers. _A little luck here can't hurt, either…_


	33. Chapter 33

**Thirty-three**

"Come _on_, Bobby!" Jack was pacing the hallway.

The Aussie didn't even look over from his work. "Mate, it's cutting like a knife through butter, but this wall's six inches thick – it's gonna take a bit."

Jack sighed and turned to D. "Anything?"

"Nope," the older agent replied, his eyes on the scanners. "Still jammed."

"How long?" The edge in Jack's voice was harder as he turned back to Bobby.

"Hour minimum, mate. Best I can do."

Jack ran a hand through his hair, refraining with difficulty from actually pulling any out. _Hang on, guys… just hang on._ Not knowing what they'd find was worse than the waiting.


	34. Chapter 34

**Thirty-four**

Jones paused in the doorway to the lab. "Jet, go see if Benny got that bitch. I'll be up in a minute."

"Gotcha, boss." Footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading quickly.

Myles tensed, letting the slur against his partner roll off for the moment; this had to be done right, and at the right time, or he'd be dead in short order. Letting anger take over was a good way to screw things up, though it was doing wonders for blocking the pain right now. He watched Jones pull out the .45 and scan the room.

"You know, Agent Leland," the thief spoke to the room at large, "this little game of yours merits nothing more than an entertaining diversion. Your lovely partner may reach the top of the stairs, but I rigged the door so it can only be opened by remote." He pulled a small device from his pocket and waved it in the air. "Specifically, _this_ remote. Since I highly doubt she could overpower Benny by herself, I suspect she's waiting back in your cell."

_Oh, no… no way out… what have I done?_ _Tara…_ His mind whirled with a dozen different scenes of what his partner was suffering at the hands of the burly Neanderthal, so much so that he almost missed the next comment.

Jones chuckled. "Which is fortuitous; I understand she's really a _sweet _lady, in more ways than one. I intend to find out. Tell me, did she relate to you the effect my compatriots had on her? It was really quite amusing. It's amazing what a little saliva, and a fair dose of patience, can do."

Myles let the string of expletives running through his head channel into focused, fury-driven determination; if he could just get the remote from Jones, rescue would be literally at the push of a button. But first he had to concentrate on getting rid of the gun, and getting the advantage over Jones. He allowed himself to stir just enough that it caught Jones' attention.

He watched the thief's head cock slightly; then Jones moved toward the air duct.

"Hide and seek? Really, now, Agent Leland, I expected better from you." The .45 hammer clicked back. "You do realize that metal grate isn't going to stop bullets."

_Closer… come on, you arrogant little— twit, you want point-blank range and you know it… a step more…_ His legs tensed, and the adrenalin pumped away the pain completely. _Come on…_

One step closer… two… with a kamikaze roar, Myles kicked the duct cover into Jones, sending the firearm flying and the thief sprawling on the ground. Myles used his arms to propel himself out of the duct and skidded across the floor to the gun; he snatched it up, aimed it at Jones and pulled the trigger.

_Click._

Before it even registered that the gun hadn't fired, a brutal blow caught him right in the middle of his back, and he crumpled.

Dan Jones pushed the duct cover off and stood, then walked over to where Myles was doubled over, his breath coming in tortured gasps. Behind the agent, in his stocking feet, Jet leaned on the broom handle with a smug smile on his face.

"You know, that's the second time you've underestimated my intelligence, Agent Leland," Jones said smoothly. "You didn't _really _think I'd be down here alone, did you? Benny is more than a match for Tara; she's holed up right back in your cell where she belongs. Now, the only question is, do I bother with the effort to drag you back up there with her?"

Now he pulled a 9mm from the back of his waistband and grinned, tipping it from side to side like a metronome needle, aimed squarely at Myles' head. "Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe…"

BANG!!

The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. In the cell, Tara jumped; then she sank to her knees by the cot and let her heart shatter….


	35. Chapter 35

**Thirty-five**

She heard the door slide open, and didn't even bother turning; she had already decided that if her partner was dead, she'd _make_ Jones kill her, too. _I'm not jumping his hoops anymore. There's no point…_

There was a slight shuffling sound, and the door closed again. Then… a familiar groan broke through the confusion, and she whirled, not even noticing the stiff protests from her own body. "Myles!"

He groaned again as she practically tackled him. "Nice… to see you, too… partner," he managed.

Tara sat back and touched his cheek, which was severely bruised and swelling rapidly. "But… I heard a gunshot… I thought…"

"No; Jones is still playing games," the Harvard grad muttered. "He shot off that round to mess with you, then settled for pistol-whipping me. I guess… ugh… shooting me was too easy."

"Ouch. Hang on." She went and grabbed her tank shirt off the camera, soaked it in the sink again and brought it back, holding it to his face. She sighed. "There was no way to get out—"

"I know." His eyes drifted shut. "Jones has a remote for it. So all my lame plan accomplished was signing our death warrants. I'm so sorry, Tara…"

"Don't," she replied sharply. "Don't you _dare_ apologize for trying to spare either of us any more agony. And since when is courage worthy of Galahad _'lame'_?"

"When it meets the exaggerations of Lady Guinevere," Myles quipped wearily. "Come on, Tara. I was stupid, thinking that I could take Jones on. You proved it earlier with the 'practice run.' And I thoroughly underestimated him. I never thought he'd send Benny after you, I'd have never—"

She stopped his words with two fingers pressed to his lips. "And if I'd known ahead of time what Jones had planned for you yesterday, I'd have never agreed to let you be the 'prime target.'" She raised a brow at him. "Any more 'and ifs' we need to get out of the way?"

Myles shook his head. When she moved her hand, he sighed. "That feels nice, by the way. On my eye, I mean."

The tiniest twinkle lit her dark eyes, and a sad smile crossed her features. "You sure that's all you need for it? I seem to remember nothing ever really felt better until Mom kissed it."

His mouth quirked, but the look he gave her was confused. "You're not my mother, Tara."

"All the more reason it should work, don't you think?" She leaned toward him, but his hands on her shoulders stopped her as he realized.

"No, Tara," he said softly. "The stairwell was one thing. But not here. I don't want any more 'entertainment' for Jones and his entourage. If there's something more here, I want it to stay _between_ _us_."

She let her fingers drift through his hair. "Since you yourself just said that we're not likely to get out of here alive, I don't much care. Do you?"

Myles couldn't resist, even though he knew it was risky; he traced a finger along her cheek. "If it's going to prolong that defeatist attitude, yes, I do care. I plan to hold onto the thought of kissing you again as incentive for surviving this."

She stared at him, her dark eyes wide and full of something he didn't quite dare acknowledge any longer. Her voice was solemn and quiet. "I wanted to make sure we had a chance for it before we go out fighting."

"It really is quite the dilemma, isn't it?"

They turned; like the cockroach you can never seem to get rid of, Jones was once again lounging in the doorway. "Of course, neither of you are going to reach your goal," he said, twirling a blood-stained broom handle in front of him like a quarterstaff. "So where does that leave you? Kiss each other goodbye, or not give me the satisfaction of witnessing it?"

"Go to hell, Jones," Myles snapped.

"You first." Jones swung the broom handle, sweeping Tara against the cot and catching Myles at the jaw in a single move; the tall agent slammed against the floor hard, knocked senseless. Then he grabbed Tara by the arm. "Let's go."

"No!!" She wrenched away. "Not this time. So you can just shoot me and get it over with. I'm staying right here, with him."

He caught her again, and rammed her to the wall so hard she cried out, her already bruised ribs taking another beating. "You listen good, sweetie," he hissed in her ear. "If you don't keep up your end of the bargain, you're gonna find yourself tied to a chair, so close that when I finish your partner off you'll have blood and flesh spattered all over your face, along with the sure knowledge that _you_ let it happen. Do you read me?"

"You're going to kill us anyway," she ground out, trying to shift enough to do some damage.

He saw right through it, and moved in until he was pressing air from her lungs. She moved slightly, and he rammed her against the wall again; this time, she felt a snap. "Indeed. So our bargain is at an end, Agent Williams. Now we play by _my _rules." He tipped his head just slightly. "Benny! Jet! Get in here."

The two goons appeared in the doorway.

"Take our lovely lady Fed here into the other room and get her set up. And if she gives you any grief, dispense a little 'lesson' or two." He leered at Tara. "I'll make sure your partner knows where you've gone."

She gathered the rage around her, took a painful breath and spat directly in his face. He stared at her for a second; then a low chuckle started from his chest, growing in volume until it escaped through his lips. He didn't even bother wiping off his face. "I always said you were quite a spitfire, darling. We've covered the spit now; let's get to the fire. Get her out of here."

Myles stirred as the two men dragged Tara out of the room; she was doing her level best to make that difficult, but the sheer weight difference was making most of it futile. He heard a grunt of surprised pain, and had to smile slightly. _Give 'em what for, kiddo,_ he thought—

A crushing pain hit as Jones twisted his arm behind his back and slammed the other palm flat into his spine. "Move it, 'Galahad'," he hissed menacingly, dragging the agent to his feet. "I've had my fill of you both."


	36. Chapter 36

**Thirty-six**

"_Bobby!!!" _

The Aussie flicked his helmet up. "Will you knock it off, mate?" he said in exasperation. "I'm going as fast as I bloody well can. I care about them, too, you know."

The torch flickered and went out. Jack drew a breath, but Bobby cut off the curse. "The backup tank's right here. D, get him out of here, please."

Dimitrius was watching Jack with dark eyes. "You heard him. Either you take a walk right now, or I'll send you back to the van." He cut off the protest with a glare. "You may be unit leader, but I'm the supervisor, and if I think you're out of line, I outrank you. Got it?"

Jack nodded silently and moved several feet away to the stairwell; he sat down and rubbed at his temples, fighting the knot in his stomach that told him they were running out of time. _Come on, come on… Myles, Tara, I swear, we haven't forgotten you guys…_


	37. Chapter 37

**DARK, DARK, DARK... Here is the end of our tunnel, and it will get very very dark before there is light of any kind... fair warning.**

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oOo

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**Thirty-seven**

She'd given them a fight, all right, but all it had accomplished was getting her a black eye and what felt like several more broken ribs. Benny hadn't been joking; if he'd had his way, she really would have been nothing but a pile of twigs at his feet. Now she tried to find some small way to move and ease the growing pain in her chest; difficult to do with her hands tightly tied above her head.

Jones swept into the room. "Go take care of Romeo in the lab; you'll still get your chance here." His mood indicated there was to be no argument, and the two men scurried out of the room.

He looked at Tara; there was no leering smile, no warped comments, just an ice-cold glare that froze her blood. He yanked the restraints tighter, grabbed a small knife off a nearby table and made short work of all the clothing he'd spared earlier, and leaned over to hiss in her ear. "Enough," was all he said.

It was different this time... before, it had been uncomfortable and utterly humiliating, but things had changed. It was absolute agony; she could feel her flesh tearing under the stabbing pressure, and every breath was torture. They had blindfolded her and taped her mouth again, so all she could do was whimper and struggle against the restraints. Suddenly, she heard a sound from outside the room that made her heart nearly stop.

Again... and again... the sound of the lash was burned into her mind so deeply she could never mistake it. She raised her head and turned toward the sound, only to hear the maniacal glee in Jones' voice.

"There is a season for everything," he purred coldly. "And your season, as well as that of your beloved partner, is at an end. And I'm not particularly concerned with you dying happy. So let's just get it over with."

_Let's_. Tara let her head drop back onto the table and winced at every sound coming from the other room, no longer even aware of what was happening to her, the blood starting to run. All she knew was the sickening sight of what she'd been forced to watch earlier, multiplied tenfold. _Myles_, she thought, _I tried... I really tried... I should never have bargained, I should have just let him kill us to begin with, because this is far worse than death. Now it's too late, and I haven't the strength left to pull out the restraints. If there was any chance you were still alive… I'm so very sorry. I hope I see you... later... in another place…to tell you that._

Just then, the sounds went quiet. A minute later, she heard footsteps fade into the room. Jones paused; he didn't say anything, so Tara could only assume he simply raised a brow at them.

"All taken care of, boss," Jet chortled. "He's as good as dead. He ain't going anywhere but the pearly gates now."

Jones snorted. "I can wish him someplace much warmer," he growled. "But that's later. Why don't we finish up here?"

Tara let the tears fall under the blindfold and allowed the grief to take over, blocking out everything else. _I'll see you soon, my friend,_ she cried silently. _And this nightmare will be all over._


	38. Chapter 38

I'm so sorry... in all the holiday traveling and such, i got behind... so I'll post a couple of times today and get us at least to the end of part I...

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**Thirty-eight**

Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he knew he couldn't leave just yet; he would _not_ allow her to die in such a humiliating manner. Drawing on whatever remaining reserves of anger and … something he no longer deserved to acknowledge... that he could access, Myles fought his way back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The two idiots had figured him for dead, and cut him down before they hurried off to have their fun. It was fortunate, since he knew full well that he could never have loosed himself in his current condition. It took every ounce of strength he had to crawl over to the control panel for the jamming device and shut it down.

He leaned against the cabinet, trying to focus enough to dial his cell phone, while he checked his sidearm, and Tara's, for ammunition. The whip had wrapped around most of his torso this time, and there was no nexus to the pain; it was everywhere, and harder to work around. _Just a little longer… then you can rest._


	39. Chapter 39

Posted 38 at the same time as this... make sure you've caught up...

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**Thirty-nine**

Above, Jack jumped as his cell rang, startling all of them gathered around Bobby and his torch. He grabbed it. "Hudson."

"Jack…" a familiar voice rasped faintly.

He almost passed out from relief. "Myles! We're almost through the door! _Where are you??_"

"Jammer… off. Third… level down… hurry…"

The call cut off before Jack could respond. "Myles? Myles!" He whirled just as Bobby shoved the steel door inward. "They're three levels down," he cried. "Move!"


	40. Chapter 40

**Forty**

She stared at the ceiling, emotionally numb, even as she bled. Jones and his cronies had finished now, had removed her blindfold, ripped the tape off her mouth, and were staring at her as if she were some particularly entertaining house pet who had become a nuisance and was about to be put to sleep. She didn't care; all she wanted was for it to be over so she could see her… best friend… again somewhere outside this nightmare. She no longer deserved to acknowledge anything more. She embraced the dizziness…

Jones smirked, running his hand up her calf just to feel her shudder. "It's been fun, doll," he crooned, "But I rather think you've been overused. Even Benny seems to have had his fill, and he's not easy to satiate." Two cruel laughs joined his own. "So, I think we'll just leave you here to fade slowly into the ether. Do be sure to tell your partner, when you see him shortly, that the ride was most adventuresome."

"Ride's over." Before his voice could even register, Tara heard two, almost simultaneous, shots, followed by a third. Jones and his cohorts had the nerve to look surprised before they all dropped to the floor.

"Myles?" she gasped. She saw him in the doorway, his eyes averted to spare her the embarrassment, or simply because he was barely standing, blood running down his recon pants from his chest in several places. The two handguns he'd fired dropped from his hands.

"Help's… coming." He tried to take a step toward her, but his knees buckled and he went down.

"Myles!"

He moved slowly, _too_ slowly, across the floor until he could reach up and loosen one of the restraints at her wrist. Then he sank to the tile again. "No!!" She wrenched the restraint open with a single adrenalin-juiced yank, made short work of the rest, then grabbed a nearby sheet to cover herself and skidded to his side, ignoring the flow of blood from her own body.

"Oh, dear God, please— no!" She gently cradled his head in her lap and stroked the blond hair, matted now with blood from the bullwhip. "No, we've done too much, come too far... oh, dear God, please help us!" She was still breathing the prayer when the darkness took her and she slumped beside him.


	41. Chapter 41

**Forty-one**

They stood quietly, trying to take in a scene that could have come from a Hollywood horror movie. Jack Hudson had never seen so much blood in his life, and the fact that most of it was coming from two of his team was more than he could take. He turned from the sight, leaning against the doorway to keep from passing out.

"They're still alive," D said. "But just barely. We need to move _now_. Get the paramedics down here. And tell them we're gonna need a Life-Flight to George Washington University Hospital for both of them." Mike Jarvis took off up the stairs.

Bobby Manning paused over the bodies of Jones and his cohorts. "Not for these drongos, though. Single shot to the heart each." His voice was void of emotion.

Jack had regained his composure enough to turn around again, and a low whistle escaped him. "Wow. That's good, even for Myles healthy."

Now the Aussie's eyes hardened along with his tone. "Well, they'd best wake up, because I want to know what the bloody hell happened. And if they don't…" He didn't finish the sentence, and stalked out of the room to go get the evidence team.

**END PART I**

(part II will follow immediately after)


	42. Chapter 42

**PART II: The Beginning

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**Forty-two**

A persistent beeping brought her consciousness back slightly; it was annoying, she thought, that even the road to... wherever... had to be so blasted noisy.

She turned her head away from the sound, and felt a warm hand tighten over hers. Her lips tried to form a word. "My..."

But it was a soft female voice that answered. "She's starting to wake up."

"Thank heaven." A male voice this time, but not the right one. "I'll go find the doctor."

Tara slowly opened her eyes, wincing as she realized the right one wouldn't open at all. The brightness of the room was painful at first, but nothing compared to the ache in her heart as she remembered. It hurt to move, but she had to know. Trying to prop herself up, and sending waves of pain through her ribs in the process, she managed to croak out, "Myles?"

A gentle hand pushed her back down, and Sue's face moved into her view. "He's here," she answered. "He lost a lot of blood, but they told us he's starting to stabilize. You need to lie still. You've been critical for the last twelve hours."

"Need to see..." Her strength failed her, and she fell back onto the sheets as Jack returned with the doctor.

"Tara," Jack said, reaching out a hand to her. "As soon as the doctor is done looking you over, we need to find out what happened. Myles is still unconscious. And we found the two of you in a bit of an… unusual situation."

She shied from his touch, one hand going reflexively over her stomach, and stared at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head. "D," she whispered. "No one else."

The look in her eyes had Jack and Sue exchanging a worried glance, but Jack nodded. "All right," he said quietly. "I'll ask him to come talk to you."

Sue squeezed her hand as she rose to go. "I'll go check on Myles for you," she said. "As soon as one of you is well enough to move, we'll make sure you see each other."

THANK YOU, Tara signed.

"All right, Miss Williams." A female voice, soothing but efficient, sounded from the other side of the bed. "Let's check the damage. You lost almost as much blood as your friend. We weren't sure you were going to make it..."


	43. Chapter 43

**It's short, I know... which is why I will post 44 as well.**

**

* * *

**

oOo

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**Forty-three**

_What the…? Where…? Oh, Lord, you know I hate hospitals…_ Perhaps this was the beginning; he'd be poked and prodded indefinitely, probably by Arlene, as a precursor to whatever further punishment he warranted. _The rest of eternity working for Randy… I think I'd rather the fire and brimstone…_

The nurse finished what she was doing and quietly left. Alone, he let tears fall for his partner and friend, praying she'd been given the other reward; it would make whatever happened to him, all he deserved, worth it…


	44. Chapter 44

**Had to break the scene up to include Sue's POV...**

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oOo**

* * *

Forty-four**

He looked so unlike his normally polished self that Sue had to take a breath before she approached his bedside. The large, loose bandage spread across his back was still liberally soaked with red; he hadn't yet been stable enough for them to do the multiple skin grafts the doctor said he'd need. Another packet of blood hung from the IV stand. His hair was matted with dried blood, and because they'd laid him on his stomach in order to protect the worst of his injuries, she couldn't see his face until she sat down right next to him.

She reached out and took his hand, wincing as she saw the heavy bruise swollen around one eye. His lip was split open as well. What she could read of the monitors told her little, except that he was holding his own for the moment. Whether that would continue…

His fingers tightened over hers ever so slightly, and she bent forward to see his face better. "Myles?"

One blue-grey eye forced itself open, and stared at her in what could only be read as surprise. "Sue?" he whispered. _This can't be Purgatory or Hell, then…_

She couldn't read it, but she got the idea. "You're in the hospital, Myles. You lost a lot of blood. Tara asked me to come check on you."

_She's alive… thank you, God… _T-A-R-A O-K he spelled slowly.

Sue squeezed his hand again when he was finished. "She's awake and stable. The doctor's checking her out right now, but it looks good."

GOOD, he signed feebly. GOOD. _Time to face the music, then._

Sue started as the one eye she could see rolled back in his head, and she felt his hand go limp. "Myles?" she questioned. Then she glanced up to see the monitor flashing as his heart rate faltered. "Myles!"

She had barely reached for the nurses' button when a medical team burst in. A nurse took her by the shoulders and not-so-gently propelled her out of the room.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Note:** Someone left a review that they thought the last post "mean." I haven't a clue what that's supposed to infer, except perhaps it was a gripe about leaving you wondering what's happening. Sorry, that's where the scene ended.

There was also a comment about why I "treat" Bobby and Jack the way I do. I don't "treat" them any particular way; on the show they were portrayed as very protective, to a fault even. Jack has some major control issues that can be seen anytime one is not focused on the goo-goo eyes with Sue. Bobby is essentially an overgrown kid, with a macho complex that isn't even tried to be hidden (I mean, the man can barely be in the same room with a salad, come on!).

You may see them differently (and many do). I happen to see them without drool-covered glasses... and this is what comes out. Right now they're both in shock from what they've seen, and angry over not knowing what's going on. As such...

* * *

oOo

* * *

**Forty-five**

"What happened?" Bobby was in her face before she came to a full standstill in the waiting room.

"I don't know," Sue replied, backing away slightly at his vehemence. "He was awake, a little. I told him Tara was doing ok, and he signed GOOD twice, then he slipped away again and I saw the monitor start flashing." She looked back toward the room, where doctors and nurses were scurrying in and out like ants on a food trail. "It was almost as if he was…"

"What?" He grabbed her arm, and blazing blue eyes stared her down.

Just then, a doctor came out of Myles' room and walked over to the group. "You are Agent Leland's teammates, yes?" he asked.

"That's right, mate," Bobby ground out. "What's going on?"

The doctor met the Aussie's anger with an edge in his own voice. "What's 'going on,' as you so gently put it, is that your teammate, until a few moments ago, was nearly stable enough for us to begin to repair his considerable injuries. Now, he's in a coma."

"No…" Jack had just come back from updating the Director over the phone, and his face was ashen. "He was okay not ten minutes ago. What happened?"

"I don't know," the doctor replied testily. "The nurse told me this young woman went in to see him, and then a Code Blue occurred. What did you say to him?" He glanced sideways at Sue, but not enough that she could see his entire face.

Jack touched her shoulder. M-Y-L-E-S YOU TALK. YOU SAY WHAT?

She sat down in a chair, her hands dropped in her lap, and looked up at all three of them. Beside her, Lucy turned as well. "I don't understand," Sue started. "It wasn't anything bad. I told him Tara had asked me to see how he was doing. He asked if she was okay, and when I told him she was doing better, he signed GOOD twice, and then just… left." She looked up at Jack, her face troubled. "It's like he just… gave up… once he knew she was going to be all right."

"Why would he do that?" Bobby demanded.

"Hmm…" The doctor tapped a finger to his chin. "Well, there's little we can do right now until he stabilizes again. I'm going to ask that visitors be restricted completely for the moment. If you'll excuse me…" He walked away.

Bobby dropped into a chair. "Tara won't talk to anyone but D, Myles nearly checks out on us… What the bloody hell is going on? Three perps dead by Myles' gun, he's been beaten near to death, Tara's…" He looked up suddenly. "What _did_ the doctor say? What happened to her?"

Jack was very quiet for a minute. When he looked up again, his eyes were devastated. "The doctor said… she'd been assaulted… raped…" Several drawn-in breaths made him flinch. "…at least four times, perhaps more."

The tension in the room had been palpable before; now it sucked itself into Bobby's eyes like a tornado bearing down. His voice was low and enraged. "Do you mean to tell me…" he trailed off with a glare toward Myles' room. Then he shot back around to bore a gaze at Sue. "And what did 'Super-Agent' in there do about it?"

Sue looked up at the tall Aussie, surprised and troubled by the rage she saw in his expression. "I don't know, Bobby," she said evenly. "You'll have to ask him yourself, _if_ he wakes up again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go keep a promise that I hope won't make things worse."


	46. Chapter 46

**Forty-six**

The room was quiet; outside, an alarm sounded briefly, then was shut off. Tara stared at the corner of the bed rail, willing the tears to go away, wishing that she could just disappear for awhile. Her arm was still over her stomach, though she didn't realize she was doing it.

Beside her, Dimitrius was gazing absently at his notepad; the recorder was off, now. He wondered if there was anything he could say at this moment… she'd— no, _they'd_ been through absolute hell…

After a moment, her voice came softly to him. "I was such an idiot."

"No, Tara," D replied. "You were not. You made a decision to protect your partner the only way you knew how. It doesn't matter that it didn't pan out the way it was 'supposed' to. And you know Myles would agree with me."

She nodded. "I know." Then she looked over at him. "D, can I ask a favor?"

"Anything within my power, Tara."

She smiled faintly for a second. "Is it possible to have this file sealed?"

The older man frowned slightly, his hands folded in front of him. "It's _possible_, yes. But are you sure that's what you want? It means that not even the rest of our team would be able to see it. You've got several people out there who are chafing for answers."

"Oh, I'm sure." There was a bitter edge to her voice. "Why do you think I asked to speak with only you? The last thing I wanted was Bobby playing 'big brother,' or Jack with his righteous indignation…" She sighed. "To tell you the truth, I'd just as soon not see any of them right now. Maybe Sue; she's the only one besides you who isn't oozing pity at me or anger at Myles. Whatever _that's_ about… I can feel it all the way in here, D, so don't try to tell me I'm imagining it." Now the tears subsided, and her voice went hard. "And the last thing I want is to be subjected to the single male mentality."

D was about to respond when the Aussie's voice filtered in; there was little mistaking the fact that he was very, _very _angry about something. "I see what you mean," he said softly. "But are you sure that you want the file sealed permanently? Once you seal the file, it will take a written request from _both _of you to allow anyone below the Director to see it."

She was quiet for a moment. "I can't make that decision for Myles. Can we just seal _my_ report right now?"

He nodded. "Yes. You can both decide later what you want to do with the whole thing. ERT is still working down there. It'll probably take a couple days just for them to finish their preliminaries. With Jones and his cohorts dead, the case is essentially closed, with the exception of your reports." He stood and headed for the door.

"Thank you," Tara said softly. "I just… I don't want anyone else to know how stupid…" She caught his glance and shrugged. "It's how I feel, D. Maybe later, it won't feel that way, but right now, it does."

"I understand." He opened the door and jumped slightly to see Sue standing right there. "Looks like you have another visitor." He paused as Sue pulled on his arm to whisper something to him. His eyes darkened, and he squeezed the blonde woman's arm as he stepped past her.

Tara tried to prop herself up again, then gave up. "Well?" she asked. "Did you see him?"

Sue sat down at the bedside and was quiet for a moment. "Tara… he's in a coma."

"_What?_" She looked at her friend in shock. "But… you said—"

"I know. And he was stabilizing when I was in here before." She leaned forward slightly. "Tara, I realize you don't want to talk about what happened, and I won't pry. But can you think of any reason why Myles would ask if you were okay, then, when I told him you were, he'd just give up? Because that's what happened. He asked if you were okay, then signed GOOD twice and collapsed."

"He…" Tara's eyes drifted closed. "Yes, Sue, I know why. And I wish I could tell you. But right now, I can't. That was the alarm I heard earlier, wasn't it? The Code Blue?"

Her friend nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." The answer was soft, even in the movement of her lips. "Thank you for telling me." She signed it at the same time, one-handed, since her IV was restricting the other hand, a feeling that was slowly driving her crazy. "I'm really tired, Sue. Would you mind…?"

"Not at all." Sue gave her friend a gentle hug. "Get some sleep. We'll all be here for you when you're ready."


	47. Chapter 47

**Forty-seven**

Dimitrius walked back to the waiting room; what he saw there had him concerned, for more than just the two of his team being treated. Bobby was pacing along the back row of chairs, his face hard as granite and his eyes blazing. Lucy was sitting quietly in her chair, her arms wrapped around herself and a shocked look on her face.

Jack looked up when the older man sat down next to him. "How's she doing, D?" he asked quietly. His face was still very pale.

"She's doing," D replied. "They've both been through a lot. What happened with Myles? I thought he was stabilizing."

"He was." Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Sue went in to see him, and a few minutes later the Code Blue alarm went off and a nurse shoved her out here. Then a doctor comes out and tells us he's slipped into a coma. I don't know, D; did Tara tell you what happened to them down there?"

"She did." He held up a hand as Bobby came roaring over and Lucy looked up. "But she's requested that her report be sealed. There's nothing I can tell you right now."

"Sealed?" The Aussie was livid, his nostrils flared and his lips thin and white. "What the bloody hell do you mean _sealed_? Why the hell would she do that? For the love of God, we're her friends, she can't trust us? Can't talk to us? I want to know just what the hell went on down there, D, and I want to know _right_ _now_!"

"Well, you're just going to have to wait," D shot back, standing now. "For the moment, she chooses to keep the story between us, and once she made the request my hands were tied. And it would appear that Myles' report will have to wait until he's _conscious_, so I suggest you put that 'want to know' on the back burner. There's nothing I can do."

Bobby stormed off, muttering under his breath. After a moment's silence, Lucy went after him. Jack watched them go, then turned to D. "He's got a point, D," the unit leader sighed. "We just want to help. Not knowing _how_ we can help will only make things worse."

Dimitrius nodded soberly. "What has the doctor told you? Anything?"

"Only that she was raped—" Jack's voice broke. "—repeatedly. And he said nothing about what happened to Myles, except that he'd gone Code Blue after Sue talked to him, and is now in a coma. What did Jones _do_ to him?"

The older agent was saved from having to once again stonewall a question when the doctor walked up. "Agent Gans, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Can I help you?"

"Perhaps." The doctor shot a glance at Jack before speaking further.

D considered; he hadn't had a chance to talk to Myles yet, and Tara had asked him officially to keep it to himself. After a moment, he made a hard choice. "Doctor, we can talk in private." He cut off Jack's protest with a hand up. "Jack, I'm sorry. If Myles were able to give permission right now, I'd say yes. But not until I give _both _of them the chance to decide."

He watched the shorter man's jaw clench, but Jack eventually nodded. "I understand. I don't _like_ it, but I understand."

"All right." D let the doctor lead him over to the nurses' station. "Can you give me _something_ on how Myles is doing?"

"I can. In fact, that's where you may be able to help me. Your agent is very unstable at the moment; that's typical in cases of massive blood loss. It will take a couple of days on blood, glucose and saline before his body starts to regenerate. That's before we can even go in and start debriding his wounds. The most we've been able to do is flush out the most visible of debris that got into the lacerations. In most cases, we'd wait until the patient stabilizes, then induce coma for approximately two weeks while we surgically remove the dead or infected tissue before beginning the extensive skin grafting."

"You make it sound like he's been in a fire," D commented.

"The treatment is similar. However, there's a problem." The doctor flipped open a chart he'd pulled from the nurses' file rack. "When your agents, the blonde woman in particular, told me what had happened during the few minutes Agent Leland was awake…" Now dark eyes looked up at Dimitrius. "Agent Gans, I don't have the luxury of sugar-coating this for you. Agent Leland's chances of survival are slim unless he _chooses_ to fight for it. I can't make him do that. I don't know if anyone can. But I wanted you to know. I've restricted visitors for the moment, but if there is someone…"

"The best person for that job is currently in the other hospital room," Dimitrius replied. "But I'll do what I can."


	48. Chapter 48

**Forty-eight**

Tara's report had been all too vivid; as Dimitrius looked at his friend lying on the hospital bed, face-down, he could almost see in his mind's-eye the lash wrapping itself around the agent. A deep, boiling anger at Dan Jones rose up momentarily. Then D quashed it down again; the man was dead, there was no target for his anger, he'd have to deal with it later. Right now he had to find a way to pull his friend back from the precipice.

_How do I do that, though?_ He puzzled as he sat down, involuntarily shuddering again as he took in the damage Jones had done. Where the loose bandage didn't cover, he could see the angry lines that had crept up onto Myles' neck and shoulders. There were raw marks at his wrists where the ropes had cut and burned, his right eye and cheek were a mass of purple, and beneath all that the man's complexion was paler than usual. _After all you've been through… and you blame yourself for it, I know. Tara told me what happened. You did all you could, my friend— just as she did. But are you really going to roll over and let Jones win the last hand?_

He considered what he knew of his friend; what drove him, what mattered most. _Honor… pride… _A thought popped into his head just then, and he leaned forward until he was close to Myles' ear.

"You're going to just let Jones win? You fight Webber over a _fence_, and you're just gonna give up this time? That's not the Myles Leland I know. You've got the whole team worried sick over you and Tara. We need you both back on the team where you belong. Not checking out on us."

He glanced at the monitor. Was it just his imagination, or did the heart rate seem to stabilize a bit? "You go on about your family name and the long, prestigious history it has. 'Military Fortitude,' you tell us is represented in your coat of arms. Even your name means 'soldier.' But you're just going to fade away, let Jones win. That's no soldier, no fortitude. So it boils down to this: are the Lelands fighters, or quitters?"

Now his voice lowered further. "Tara's worried sick about you. You're the first person she asked for when she woke up, and Sue just had to go tell her that you're in a coma. You get that damn pride of yours back on its pedestal, and start _fighting_. You hear me?"

He glanced at the monitor again and sighed. Though the readings seemed to have stabilized, they still weren't good. Dimitrius shook his head and walked back out into the hallway. He'd done all he could.

-

Deep in the recesses of unconsciousness, Myles had heard it all… _You don't understand, D. I'm sorry…_


	49. Chapter 49

**Forty-nine**

She couldn't sleep; she kept thinking about what Sue had told her, and the fear grew every minute that she was going to have to face the aftermath alone. _I can't do that_, she thought. _And I can't do it with any of the rest of them. Even Sue; she has no concept, and I don't feel like darkening that soul… I need him._

Tara glanced at the clock; 2 a.m. Visiting hours were long over, but it was conceivable that someone was still lurking in the hallway. She tried to sit up anyway, easing her way up as her ribs protested. The IV needle pulled slightly, continuing the feeling of being restrained. It wasn't helping.

"Hey, now." A soft voice in the doorway startled her. "Where do you think you're going?"

Tara peered at the nurse's ID. "Lynn. I need to see my partner. Right now."

The nurse gave her a stern look. "It's Mac. The ID's a requirement. Agent Williams, your condition has not improved to the point that you can be traipsing all over this hospital. I'm sorry, but—"

The agent held up a hand. "Look, I'm not asking to run a marathon. I just need to see Myles. They said earlier he's in a coma; is that true?"

"I'm not at liberty—"

"I know _why_ he faded on you," Tara pressed. "And I know what it will take to get him fighting again. _Please_, Mac. You can stick me in a wheelchair, if that will help. I won't complain. But I need to talk to him."

Mac looked at her for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Agent… Tara." She caught the petite agent's nod of permission and continued. "I read over your charts when I came on shift. And I do understand. If your condition were more stable, I'd have you over there in a heartbeat. But I can't do that without authorization."

Tara flashed a very brief smile. "Well, then, get it. I doubt it's the first time a doctor's been roused in the middle of the night. Because either I go with permission, or I try to sneak past you without it."

The nurse smiled in return, an impish light coming into her eyes. "Do… or do not. There is no try." She picked up the chart and headed for the door. "I'll see what I can do about rousting a doctor."

"Thank you." Tara raised a hand to stop Mac from leaving. "There's one other thing. Are any of my team still out there?"

"A couple," Mac replied. "A tall, dark-haired man who likes to distract my nurses, and a black woman. They're asleep at the moment. Why?"

The agent sighed. "Because I don't want to talk to either of them, or have them know I did this. Can we arrange that?"

Mac smiled again, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Arrange we can. Return I will." Then she dropped the humor. "I hope you find what you need."

"Me, too."


	50. Chapter 50

**Fifty

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**_Myles…_**

Her voice penetrated the quiet fog he'd been enjoying… or at least enduring. For whatever reason, he wasn't being allowed entrance anywhere just yet. Perhaps there was a discussion going on in the great beyond as to whether _anyone _wanted to put up with him…

_**Myles Leland, you listen to me… They say that people can hear what's going on around them even when they're in a coma, so you'd better tune in those Harvard-educated ears of yours…**_

He could see her in his mind, her dark eyes snapping as she took him to task. So subtly beautiful, even when she was railing on him. He listened, just to hear her voice one more time.

_**Sue told me what happened, about you trying to bail on me the first chance you got. If I were in any shape for it, I'd kick your backside across the Mall and back. You told me you'd always be here…**_

_Bail on you? No, Tara, that's not what I wanted. I was trying to… wanted to…_ The thoughts swirled, hurting, dismayed that she thought he was deserting her. _I just thought it would be better for you… after what I let happen…_

He heard her voice catch. _**If you give up, if you die, then what I… did… meant nothing, had no meaning at all. And I can't live with that. Myles… **_Her voice softened. He could picture her looking away for a moment, brushing at a stray tear._** I can't do this alone. I need you, here, by my side, in my heart. I know you blame yourself for what happened, but it's not true. Do you hear me? It is not true.**_

**_You are the only person I feel safe with right now. Not the team, not the hospital staff… I'm afraid to fall asleep because I know the nightmares will come. If I just knew you were fighting, too, I could handle it. But, knowing that you're barely here, that you're giving up… it means Jones will win, will destroy us both. I can't do this by myself._**

He felt himself drawn to her, as if to a bright ray of sunshine on a dark day. _I can't leave her._ It was as simple as that. He no longer deserved to open his heart to her, claim hers, but he could still be her friend, her… anchor. His soul sighed. _Judgment will have to wait._

He heard her pleading. **_Please, Myles. Don't leave me here alone._** He reached up, finding the hand she was holding and squeezing hers in return.

Tara gasped softly as a blue-grey eye opened to look at her. Then she swatted him very lightly on his arm. "It's about time you got back," she censured quietly. "I had to bully the charge nurse into letting me in here."

Myles felt an ache shoot through his heart at the look in her eyes. "I'm sorry I left," he replied simply. It was all he dared say.


	51. Chapter 51

**Fifty-one**

_Two weeks later_

"Well, now, there's the sleepyhead."

Myles groaned as he opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light coming in through the window. Someone was gently running a soft object over his shoulders and back, something slightly wet. _Why doesn't it hurt this time?_ he thought groggily._ If there's nerve damage, I wouldn't feel the cloth… but there's no pain… or not like last time… and there's light…_

"Tara?" he managed to croak, unsure why his throat felt like someone had shoved a wool scarf down it. The pain around his eye was gone as well. He reached up and gently probed at his cheek. _Wait… it's gone. What the—?_ His mind struggled to figure out what was going on.

"Easy now, Mr. Leland," a voice he didn't recognize soothed, "things can be a little confusing after two weeks in a coma, but you're fine. Just let yourself wake slowly."

_Two weeks? A coma?_ He was totally confused now. _What sort of game are you playing now, Jones?_ "Where's Tara?" he demanded suddenly. "What have you done with her?" He tried to push himself up, only to find he had next to no strength in his arms. "So help me—" Anger was rising fast.

"Mr. Leland, you need to calm down."

_No! No, I'm not buying it. It's a trick, Jones just wants me to think— _He heard the voice calling for someone else, and tried again to get up, knowing that he'd be no match against more than one person right now. _I have to find Tara…_

He got his feet on the floor and tried to push himself to a standing position. It seemed to take forever, but he managed it. The floor was ice-cold, and only then did he realize he was no longer dressed in what was left of his recon gear. A deep-seated panic set in. _Oh, God, what did— did they— no, no, God no, please, no nonononono—_

"Myles!" Strong hands grabbed his upper arms and shook him, hard. "Myles!"

He tried to break free, but the grip was too strong. _Tara! Tara, please, please where are you? No—_

Suddenly a hand struck him across the face, hard. It snapped his head around enough that a sharp pain lanced through his neck. A deep voice cut into his thoughts. "Myles! Look at me! Right now! It's D— _look at me_!!"

_D?_ He looked up, and saw dark brown eyes boring through him. In a flash, everything came back; they were free, Jones was dead, Tara was alive and recovering, and he—

His gaze dropped away from his friend's. "D. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. You've been out cold for two weeks. It's only natural things would be a little confusing." The older man squeezed Myles' arm gently. "How about we get you back into bed before you fall over?"

"All right." The rush of adrenalin was over, and he felt even weaker than when he'd first awakened. Fortunately, the nurse had come back as well, with a doctor; between the three of them, they managed to get him back onto the bed. "Wait." His brows furrowed as he realized they hadn't laid him on his stomach. "My back…"

The doctor nodded. "As long as you don't go wriggling around too much, I think the world is ready to see your face again. The grafts are working quite nicely, along with the standard stitches for the less damaged areas. I expect the scarring will be minimal, and eventually will fade to where it is barely noticeable."

Myles felt a slight twitch in his right eye, but he assumed it was merely an aftereffect of whatever they'd used to knock him out for two weeks. "Thank you, Doctor," he said simply.

"You will need to be careful from now on about sunlight exposure and various chemicals, like in the soap you use," the doctor continued. He patted the mattress. "We've replaced the usual mattress here with a special air mattress that will inflate or deflate as you move. It's to prevent bedsores and blistering of the grafts. As long as you follow your physical therapy properly, I see no reason why you shouldn't regain less than 90 of your previous mobility. We'll try to have you back to work in about a month, if you feel up to it, and back in the field within four."

The twitch was getting worse; Myles was starting to realize that perhaps it _wasn't _the anesthesia.

D sat down in the chair by the bedside as the doctor and nurse left. "Myles, I know you probably aren't up for this, but I need a report as soon as you're able. Today, if possible."

His eye twitched again. "Has Tara given you hers?"

"Yes." D's expression was sober. "But only to me. She wouldn't talk to anyone else, in fact hasn't wanted to see anyone else after Sue talked to her the day you went Code Blue on us. And she sealed the file."

"But you know." Myles couldn't meet his friend's eyes.

"Yes, I know," Dimitrius replied quietly. "And I will tell you the same thing I told her. You did all you could under the circumstances you were in."

Blue-grey eyes drifted to the window, avoiding his friend's gaze. _I wish I could believe that._


	52. Chapter 52

**Fifty-two**

Bobby Manning sat in the waiting room, stewing over the whole situation. "_Stay put," he says_, the Aussie thought sourly, glaring at the door Dimitrius had disappeared behind. _That's all I've bloody well been doing for two weeks. I didn't tag along with D to just stay put._

He glanced at the nurses' station; there were only two nurses visible right now, but he'd have to walk right past them to get to Tara's door. He checked his watch; D was finally getting a report from Myles, so hard telling how long he'd be. _I'd love to hear that twist on things. Bet he thinks he can weasel out of responsibility._

The truth was, Bobby really had no proof for his feelings. But it hadn't stopped the image of his teammates, lying there in a pool of blood, Tara with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her and her recon clothes ripped apart and flung nearby, from implanting itself on the inside of his eyelids for the past two weeks. He knew, _knew_, that there was no way the computer tech would have gone without a fight— that left only the appalling thought that Myles had allowed her to be taken. And _that_ thought was fast eating a hole in Bobby's gut.

A sudden beeping brought him out of his thoughts. "Ugh," he heard one of the nurses say. "It's Mr. Weis again." Both nurses vanished around a corner.

_May as well give it a burl_, he thought. _No time like the present. She needs her friends._

Keeping a watch for the nurses, he stood and headed for her room, telling himself it really was for the best. The sooner they all knew for sure what he felt in his gut, the sooner they could take necessary action and get back to normal.


	53. Chapter 53

**Fifty-three**

…_Part of me still wants to hide… just curl up in a ball and disappear. It's not so bad when the nurses are bustling around me, or when D comes to visit. I'm not sure why him knowing everything makes it easier— sometimes I think it shouldn't. _Tara stared at the words on the screen. Her therapist had insisted that Tara begin to keep a journal; not for analysis, but just for herself, to keep the feelings from overwhelming her. "Someone to talk to who has no vested interest," Dr. Bennett had quipped.

It had also helped that Mac kept her word; every shift she came on, the first thing the nurse did when she saw Tara was to give her an update on Myles. The blond agent had been in an induced coma for two weeks now, while the doctors worked to repair his back, a total of ten different surgeries for skin grafts and stitches. Only after the last two had Tara been allowed to go and sit with him for a few minutes.

Her fingers tapped the keys again. _Even though it still brings everything back, I feel safest near him. I can't explain it. Maybe, in some way, I'm still trying to protect him… maybe I'm making sure he's still there, so I can get through the next day, the next hour… sane._

Her journal entries weren't always written as if she were talking to someone; often they read more like a story, written in third-person. Those entries, the therapist explained, were usually the ones where the hurt and shame were deepest; the places she couldn't yet face "as herself." Dr. Bennett described it as a dissociative state; her psyche, not yet able to handle the trauma head-on, found ways to sidestep it so she could function on a daily basis.

Still, Dr. Bennett had also said that, somewhere in the back of her mind, Tara knew that she could only avoid it for so long; there would come a "day of reckoning." The therapist's job was helping her to just hang on, work her way to a safe landing so that when it _did_ come, eventually—

"Hey, darlin'."

Her eyes snapped up, her laptop slammed closed and she pulled it against her chest like a shield. "Bobby. What are you doing here?" She drew her knees up to her chest as well, ignoring the faint stab of pain still in her ribs.

"Just thought I'd see how you were doing." The Aussie sat down in the chair beside her bed.

Tara pulled at the collar of her robe as well; she knew that Bobby had been with the team that rescued them, and she recalled vaguely those last few moments after Myles had shot Jones and his cohorts. _The way they found me… what must he think?_

Shame crashed in around her like a wave; for a moment, she had to close her eyes to consciously slow her breathing. Having a panic attack in front of him wasn't going to help.

"I'm all right," she said finally, hoping he didn't hear the break in her voice.

"I hope so," he replied quietly. "No one's going to let you get hurt any more, Tara. I promise you that."

Something in his voice made her look over at him; his eyes were full of ice-blue fire. She recalled hearing his voice, angry, the day she gave D her report. It didn't make sense; surely he couldn't be angry on her _behalf_, not after the stupid stunt she'd pulled. And promises… she wasn't so sure she believed in them anymore. Except from one person…

"You should never have been down there in the first place." Bobby was speaking softly, almost to himself. "I couldn't believe, when we found you…"

…_that I could have done something so…_

"…that he let you get caught in this mess."

"What?" Tara's brows furrowed, even as she suddenly clutched the laptop tighter to her chest. "I don't understand. Who—?"

"Oh, come on, Tara. You don't have to protect him anymore. Why would you even want to?" His voice was hard now, edged with something that made her acutely nervous.

"Bobby, what are you talking about?"

The Aussie blinked suddenly; when he spoke again, his voice was softer and soothing. He reached for her hand, but didn't act surprised when she pulled away. "Tara, we're here for you. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to piece together what happened down there. You're not alone, darlin'. And I'm going to make sure that Myles doesn't _ever_ get another chance to allow something like this to happen to you. You have my word on that."

_Oh my—… He thinks… _Anger welled up inside her so fast and hot that it almost stole her breath. "Get out," she managed hoarsely.

"Tara, it's ok," he soothed, running a hand over her shoulder.

"Get _out_." Her grip on the laptop should have dented the casing, and she flinched so hard at his touch that her ribs screamed in protest.

"You don't have to protect—"

"_Get out getoutgetOUT!!"_

He was trying to reach for her again when the door burst open and Mac came running in. Tara was curled against her pillow, screaming into it, the laptop still clutched and the IV tube almost tangled in it.

The nurse grabbed Bobby's arm. "Out," she ordered.

"But—"

"_Out._ Or I will call Security." Mac's voice and the fire in her eyes said she wasn't kidding.

"Now wait just a minute." Bobby flipped out his ID. "You're talking to the FBI, here."

"You hold that thought, Stud." Mac stepped over to Tara and whispered in her ear. Bobby saw Tara nod, and then the nurse stepped back to him, grabbed his arm again in a surprisingly strong grip and steered him out of the room.

The nurse all but tossed him into a chair in the waiting room. "Now you listen to me," she hissed. "I don't care if you're J. Edgar Hoover come back from the dead. That woman is not a suspect, not a witness, and visitors were restricted. _Restricted._ Do you understand what that word means, or shall I go find a dictionary for you?"

She beckoned to someone behind him, and a burly security guard soon appeared. Mac glared at the Aussie, ignoring the glare he was giving her in return. "Carl," she said, her eyes never leaving the agent's, "I want you to keep an eye on our 'guest' here. You don't let him out of your sight until Agent Gans comes to collect him. If you'll excuse me, I have some damage control to take care of."

She spun on her heel and headed back to Tara's room, pausing only when Dimitrius stuck his head out of Myles' room and asked if everything was all right.

"It's fine," she growled. "But you might want to give the Down-Under wonder over there a refresher course in the definition of 'visitors restricted.'"

"Why? What happened?"

"I found him in Tara's room, and whatever he'd said to her has her screaming into her pillow and her BP through the roof. We'd best hope the sutures hold, or she could start hemorrhaging again." Mac glared over her shoulder at Bobby again, then stopped D with a hand on his arm. "It's under control for the moment. I have Carl keeping an eye on him until you come out. But I need to go check on Tara."

D nodded. "All right. I'll take care of him when we get back to the office, believe me." He stepped back into the room.

Mac hurried to Tara's room; the petite woman flinched until the nurse spoke to her. Then Tara threw herself into the redhead's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

It would take an hour to get her calmed down and stable again, the nurse estimated. _Thanks ever so much, Agent Manning,_ she thought sourly toward the waiting room. _Asshole._


	54. Chapter 54

**Fifty-four**

"What was that all about?" Myles asked as D resumed his seat. "Was that Tara we heard screaming?"

Dimitrius paused, debating just how much to say and the effect it might have. Finally, he decided that enough game-playing had gone on with Jones; what his teammates needed most was for someone to be straight with them.

"It was," he replied softly. "But Mac said it's under control. It's ok."

"_Ok_?" Myles snapped. "She's screaming like she wasn't able to when— couldn't—" His voice closed up, and he had to swallow before he could get any more out. "— and you tell me it's _under control_?"

"Myles." D's voice was even; he understood what was happening, but couldn't let it sidetrack the blond agent. "You can very likely go check on her yourself in a little while, after Mac calms her down."

"No," the Harvard grad said abruptly. "I'll just make things worse." The pain in his eyes was clearly visible.

Dimitrius sighed; here was the first hurdle both of his agents needed to overcome. The feeling that they alone were responsible for all that happened was understandable, even if it wasn't true. But he knew he couldn't tackle that face-on with either of them yet.

"All right," he said finally. "Then let's get back to your report. Why'd you decide to try to escape on your own? You knew we wouldn't leave you down there."

Myles pressed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. "It had been so long… and once I knew… I couldn't let it go on…" He trailed off, his eyes down, his voice soft. "It was the only way I could think of to get her out of… and it just made things worse."

"You didn't know that the door had been sealed." It was a statement, not a question.

"No." The anguish in the quiet response was vivid. "I sent her up there alone. I was trying to help her, and all I did was get her beat up by that—" His voice broke. "If I'd known…"

"But you didn't." D tried to keep his voice even, but he couldn't just sit and watch another friend torture himself needlessly. "You did what you thought was right, given what you knew. You haven't told me anything that you're going to get in trouble for."

"I _failed_ her, D!" The words wrenched from his gut. "I swore when we started this that I'd do everything in my power to keep her safe! And look what happened! If you'd seen her when they tossed her back in that cell…" Blue-grey eyes went vacant, and his breathing became suddenly shallow. "The terror in her eyes when I tried to… I just wanted to make things… she asked me… just wanted me to hold— oh, God, when she told me what she'd done…" It was too much for him, and he buried his face in his hands.

D had Tara's statement; he knew what Myles was referring to. But he had to get some clarity into the blond agent's own report. "What did she tell you, Myles? What had she done, and why?"

"She—" He had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. He knew he was making a royal mess of this report; everything just kept crashing in all at once, and he was having a hard time sorting it out as it happened. "When Jones first… approached us in the cell… I tried to get him to focus on me, instead of—"

"Instead of her," D finished quietly. "I'd say your back confirms that you did exactly that."

"But it didn't work." The baritone voice was swinging back to the emotionless recital from before. "Or it did, until I blacked out. By the time I came to, it was too late to do anything about it. She'd already made that horrific bargain with him…" His eyes drifted shut again as he fought to control the grief welling up. "I should have—"

"Should have _what_?" D's frustration poked through. "Myles, I got the doctor's report on what they did to you. The fact that you managed as much as you _did_ is downright miraculous. You're not some cast-iron god who can take a beating like that without batting a lash."

"I _know_ that, D!" The anger was back.

Dimitrius flipped off the recorder; this was personal. "Then why don't you tell me what the problem is, Myles. It's obviously more than the fact that you couldn't protect her. So tell me what it _is_."

Myles opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared at his teammate for a long moment, then closed his eyes.

D watched a silent battle rage across his friend's features; but after a moment, the younger man drew in a sharp breath and his expression flipped to a carefully neutral blank, the blue-grey eyes devoid of _anything_. _When it's too much, shut down_, D thought. _Shut down completely._

"I apologize for my outburst," Myles said, his voice too composed. "Let's get this done. And then I would like it sealed as well."

D flipped the recorder back on; within ten minutes, he had a calm, rational, concisely detailed account of the events in the VanTex labs. It bothered him more than the outburst had.

**Author's note: It may seem strange to some that Myles could relate the experience so calmly, so unemotionally. But I've reasearch this in-depth, and according to the rape counselor I spoke with, it's perfectly reasonable that even a man can shut down to this degree. The brain dissociates the emotion because it's too intense for the psyche to handle at the moment.**


	55. Chapter 55

**Fifty-five**

Bobby didn't even move when Dimitrius came out into the waiting room. He just glared up at the acting supervisor. "Get the whole story, did you?" The sarcasm in the Aussie voice was unmistakable.

D sighed; he couldn't figure out what Bobby's problem was. Even after the initial session with the Bureau psychologist the entire team had been required to take, the Aussie's attitude about all this left much to be desired. "I have a report, yes. And before you ask, I can't tell you any more than I could with Tara. He's requested it sealed as well."

Bobby snorted. "Of course he did," he muttered. "No surprise there."

D shot him a withering look. "You just stay put for another minute. Then you can say all you want _in the car._"

He walked over to the nurses' station, where Mac was scribbling on a chart, her lowered brows almost touching. "How's she doing?" he asked quietly.

"How's she _doing_?" She drew in a breath while the agent stepped back. "If I could, I would have him banned, for all the damage he's done just now. I don't need blackguards like him coming in and spewing off at the mouth, saying any old thing without engaging their brains first." She tossed the chart on the desk and jabbed a finger toward the waiting room. "Who does it help to cast blame when the healing process is barely started? He upset her, and she reacted by pulling away and hurting herself again." Tension knotted in her fists and her teeth gritted. "I'd like to show him _blame_."

"I _know_ how Bobby's doing," D sighed. "I'll take care of him, believe me. Can you just tell me how _Tara's_ doing? Please."

"I'm sorry." The nurse took another deep breath. "Tara is asleep now. I had to stay with her and wait till she was calm, then give her a mild sedative so I could redo the bandages..."

"Did she start hemorrhaging again?"

Mac shook her head. "Nothing that critical, but she bruised up her ribs again with all her thrashing, and she ripped out her IV." Now she leaned in toward him and lowered her voice. "Do you think Myles would feel up to seeing her for just a minute? You just got done talking to him."

Dimitrius sighed again. "I don't know. He was concerned when he heard her screaming, but when I suggested he could check on her himself, he just said he'd make things worse."

"All right," the nurse replied. "Maybe I'll go talk to him. He'd be the best thing for her right now."

D nodded, thanked her and headed for the elevator, motioning Bobby to follow him. "Get out here," he said shortly. "I think we've done enough damage for one day."


	56. Chapter 56

**Fifty-six**

When Mac walked into the room, she found Myles with his eyes closed, drumming his fingers softly on the blanket. There was no indication that he was aware of her presence; his fingers moved deftly, and it didn't take her long to figure out he was playing the piano, in his mind at least.

A phrase sprang to her thoughts, from a book she'd read recently: "Sensitive people who were used to a rich, intellectual life may have suffered much pain, but the damage to their inner selves was less. They were able to retreat from their terrible surroundings to a life of inner riches and spiritual freedom."#

She didn't know much about the man's spiritual life, but she'd figured out long before now that Special Agent Myles Leland had a rich intellectual life outside the Bureau. She'd worked at GWU Medical Center for five years now, and after awhile the many faces of the Justice Department became familiar. She couldn't recall ever having actually _spoken_ with either Myles or Tara, but she'd vaguely recognized them when they were brought in.

There had always been an air of culture, for lack of a better word, surrounding Agent Leland; she'd have bet a month's salary in a heartbeat that he had season tickets to the symphony, could name a ballet other than _The Nutcracker_ and an opera besides _Aida_. His library at home would include Dickens and Shakespeare, Keats and Shelley, and he could likely do more than tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso and a Michelangelo from a Remington.

Now, all those things he loved were working to set up a very effective "alter state" for him, where he could dissociate from the horrors he and his partner had been through. The question was would it stay a temporary reprieve, until he could begin to work through the trauma, or would the alter state become a full-blown disorder? She'd seen it go both ways in other patients.

Well, for the moment he wasn't an agent, simply her patient; so she didn't use his title when she spoke softly to him. "Mr. Leland? Are you all right?"

He sighed, his eyes still closed. "I'm fine; Mozart is so easy to get lost in… so complex, with almost a life of its own… my teacher tells me I must understand the mathematic complexities to fully appreciate the music. So I like to just let it flow over me…"

Mac raised a brow; his voice was different, younger… how she knew that, she wasn't sure, since she'd never had a direct conversation with him. But this dreamer's voice didn't fit with the profile of a ten-year FBI veteran. _He's deep_, she realized. _Giving his report to Dimitrius must have triggered a pretty nasty flashback of some sort. And I'm sure Tara screaming didn't help_.

"Mr. Leland," she repeated, touching his arm.

He stiffened suddenly; then his eyes snapped open and he looked around, as if confused by his surroundings. His breath caught, and she saw the classic bewilderment of a man emerging from a severe dissociative episode. Blue-grey eyes looked up at her. "Where—? Oh, yes." His voice sounded sad, disappointed almost. "Nurse, uh…"

"It's Mac," she said gently. "Only the attending uses my last name. That way I know when I'm in trouble."

He smiled ever-so-slightly at her quip, then peered around her for a moment. "Did D get a call? I was supposed to be giving him a report, and I must have dozed off or something…"

"You didn't doze off," she replied simply. "What's the last thing you recall?"

"Uh…" He brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing it slightly. "D and I were talking… I heard someone screaming. I… he got up for a minute." Blond brows furrowed as he tried to remember.

Mac had worked in the hospital at Ramstein Air Force Base during her three years of military service; she'd seen more than one case of post-traumatic stress disorder, and knew that the traditional "nurse-patient barriers" didn't always help. So she pulled up a chair at the side of his bed and sat down, giving him her full attention. If an emergency came up elsewhere, she'd be paged.

"Take your time," she urged softly. "He got up…?"

Myles rubbed at his forehead again. "He spoke to someone at the doorway…" Now he looked at her. "Was that you?"

"Yes," she replied. "Your partner was a little agitated. That was the scream you heard."

"What hap—?" He stopped abruptly and turned his head away. "Never mind."

Mac decided a little tough love was in order, laced with her own special humor. "Now, you know, that doesn't really seem fair," she commented gently.

It got his attention, at least. "What?" he asked as he turned back around.

She smiled softly. "Tara's insisted that I give her an update on you every time I come on shift; but you don't want to know if she's okay? Thought you two were partners." _And more than that, if my instincts serve me right._

For a moment, torment clouded his eyes, mixed with surprise, but he didn't look away. "She asks about me?"

"Of course she does. Why wouldn't she?"

His eyes dropped again. "She shouldn't." Before the nurse could reply, he abruptly changed the subject. "So what happened to me? You said I didn't doze off. The last thing I remember is telling D that I should have…" His voice caught, and his hands started to tremble. "…should—"

Mac was up and sitting at his side before he could fade out on her again. She took his hands in her own. "Mr.— Myles, listen, please. You've had what we call a dissociative episode. It happens with traumas such as the one you've been through. Your psyche doesn't want to deal with the trauma, so it sets up a nice little escape hatch, for lack of a better term, to give you a chance to get back on track. Quite often, there's no memory of it, because it occupies the same time frame as something else that's going on. The conflict tends to cancel out active memory of both experiences. It will happen as you work your way through this."

Now she tapped his hand slightly. "But there's something you need to know, and really believe. Tara doesn't blame you for what happened. In fact, that's the reason I had to sedate her when she got so upset. One of your teammates had sneaked into her room and was implying that it _was_ your fault. She got very, very angry with them, and that's what set her off."

_Who—? I don't suppose it really matters, though… _"You had to sedate her?" His voice was very soft. "Did she hurt herself?"

"A little. But she's all right." Now Mac could get to the reason she'd come in; at least, she hoped so. "I think it would make her feel a whole lot better if you'd go see her, even just for a few minutes. I can have a wheelchair here in a minute, if you—"

"No." It wasn't as vehement as she'd expected, but filled with pain. "I can't. I just— I'm hurting her _without_ being there, it'll just be worse if…"

"**_Myles… I can't do this alone. I need you, here, by my side, in my heart."_** Her voice came into his mind as though she were speaking directly into his ear. He'd made a promise to her. As much as the idea of seeing her terrified him, he had to do it. _A Leland keeps his word_. The credo that had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember.

A snatch of music drifted through his mind suddenly, but he chose to ignore it. For now. It would be waiting for him when he finished what he needed to do. He sighed deeply and looked up at the nurse. "All right."

* * *

# - Victor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning (New York, Simon & Schuster, 1984), p. 55 


	57. Chapter 57

**Fifty-seven**

Bobby had been absolutely silent during the drive back to the Hoover Building, glowering at the traffic outside his window. In a way, D was glad; it gave him time to figure out just what to do about the Aussie and the colossal sulk he'd been in. On the other hand, it just made everything feel like a powder-keg with a live fuse. Sulks could ignite all too easily.

The past two weeks had been a nightmare. Tara's abridged report, which she'd cobbled together for them once they knew Myles would be unconscious for two weeks, made it even worse. Less than a page, it basically told them about the eye-beams and their initial capture, but gave few details about their confinement.

It stated that they had both been beaten and that Tara had been raped. What it did _not_ state was that most of what they had allowed to happen had been a result of them trying to keep each other alive and relatively safe, nor the mental and emotional torture they'd been through.

Dimitrius could understand that Tara felt stupid for bargaining with Jones. He'd even known that when Myles woke up, the blond agent would react pretty much exactly the way he had. What he _couldn't_ understand was why they didn't feel they could trust the rest of the team to know _all_ that had happened. That decision was going to have a reckoning; it was simply a matter of _when_.

He had his own theories about the silence; namely, that Tara was afraid the team would feel as she did, that she'd screwed up, and Myles was going along with it to protect her, since he felt he'd failed to do that while they were captive, as well as to hide his own feelings of guilt. D planned to run that theory past the Bureau psychologist once he got back to the office. In fact, he was going to have Gayle Boynton come talk to the _lot _of them again.

He hit the door locks before he even came to a stop in the parking garage. Bobby swung around and glared at him.

"We're not going to have this conversation again, Bobby," D said. "Visitors are restricted, and that's that. When they want to talk, they will."

The Aussie snorted. "Yep. Gotcha. No more surreptitious entry. I have a lab report to go pick up."

The look D gave him was stern, but mixed with understanding. "Just make sure that's all you do. And don't dally. I want you and the rest in my office in an hour."

"Why?"

"Just be there." The older man released the door locks and watched the Aussie stalk across the space to the elevators. A deep sigh escaped. "Please."


	58. Chapter 58

**Fifty-eight**

Bobby wandered through the white hallways of the lab; he'd always wondered why they didn't have a few pictures up of something resembling the outside world, since the place gave him a mild case of claustrophobia every time he came down here.

He knew he'd screwed up at the hospital; he was a bit surprised that D hadn't chewed him out more than he did. _I just wanted to see Tara, just for a minute…_ The rationalization fell terribly flat as he replayed the incident in his head.

She'd been terrified of him, which he supposed he could understand… but he hadn't wanted to hurt her, certainly never intended for her to be screaming. He'd just wanted to make her understand that _he_ understood.

_Why did she get so angry when I told her that Myles wouldn't ever have the chance to get her hurt again?_ That was the main thing eating at him. He'd kept quiet over the past year, even though he had serious reservations about the things Tara was getting involved in. He knew she'd not appreciate what she would have perceived as an overprotective streak; still, there were limits to what he could keep silent about…

"Here you go, Matt. The DNA work is all finished. We have a positive match on both the handle and on the whip itself." Faint voices reached him from one of the lab rooms. _A whip? That's not your typical crime scene finding. _He snorted faintly. _Unless you work in Vegas._

Curious, he turned in the direction of the conversation, but stayed where he was, since some cases required that not even other agents were to know what was going on.

"So it's all clearly matched?" an agent was asking.

"Yes" the lab technician replied. "The blood and tissue on the bullwhip itself are a perfect match to Agent Leland's DNA, and the DNA we found from epithelials on the handle match Jim Packard's." There was a pause, and then the tech's voice was a little shaky. "The guy did quite a job on Leland. All we've seen indicates that Packard was swinging full-force."

Bobby gulped; he'd been on a couple of ranches as a kid in Australia, and then in the Western United States while he was in college. He'd seen bullwhips used occasionally on exceptionally ornery cattle, and he knew what even a light swing could do to tough cowhide. _Full-force, on human skin…_

Suddenly, this was about far more than just Tara; Myles may have gotten her into the situation in the first place, but it was becoming very possible that Bobby had misjudged his blond teammate's ability to intervene on Tara's behalf. The realization only made his frustration worse. _Why won't they let us help? This has to be agonizing…_

"Agent Manning?"

He jerked out of his thoughts to see Amy Johns, another lab technician, coming toward him with a file in her hands. "Amy. Hey. I was just coming after that." He turned toward her fully, since Matt was headed out with his own file and a very large evidence bag. Bobby saw the bullwhip, coiled, out of the corner of his eye and had to repress a shudder. "Everything come out?"

"Yep," she replied, "ballistics match your suspect's pistol to a 't'."

"You're an angel, sheila." He managed to force the customary fervor into his voice. "Thanks."

But his thoughts were troubled as he headed back to the Bullpen. _I can't even share this with anyone… I'm not supposed to know anything about it…_


	59. Chapter 59

**Fifty-nine**

Unfortunately, Mac had gotten an emergency call before he'd even made it to the wheelchair. She assured him that Tara would sleep for several hours, and that she would be back.

"Yes, you will," Myles replied, more curtly than he'd intended. "Because I'm not going without you." The thought of facing his partner _awake_ was even worse than a few minutes at her bedside while she was asleep.

"I understand." Her voice held that understanding, as well as forgiveness at his tone. "You won't be bored, though. There's a Dr. Jules Lebow scheduled to come see you in about fifteen minutes." She rushed off, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

Myles felt his eye twitch again; although he'd seen the psychologist before, in the aftermath of his brush with an automatic rifle, he wasn't looking forward to this. Here was a man who, in every subtle way conceivable, would begin to make him face what happened— what he'd done, what he'd allowed. The thought of it had his breath backing up in his throat.

Fifteen minutes passed all too quickly; by the time Jules Lebow poked his head into the room, Myles was trying desperately to recapture whatever dissociative state Mac had told him about. Unfortunately, since he had no conscious memory of it, he couldn't escape into it.

"Hello, Myles."

The psychologist's voice was soft, laced with a careful warmth he remembered from his first sessions a couple of years ago. After he'd worked through his panic attacks and the anger at the shooting, he'd only been back once, for a quick follow-up. But Myles had also heard Dr. Lebow's voice harder, probing, insistent that he face what he needed to; it was _that_ voice he was dreading.

"Doctor." He'd intended to say more, at least acknowledge the social niceties, but his throat closed up. Instead, he extended his hand, noticing with some unease just how badly his whole arm shook with the exertion, and indulging in the secret desire that Tara had just let him fade into the ether.

The psychologist smiled as he shook the younger man's hand. "You don't need to look so wary, Myles. This is just a preliminary visit. I promise, we'll talk about only what you want to."

"You always say that," Myles replied cautiously, settling back again, "and we end up discussing things I never intended to." He wished that the surgeon would let him put a shirt on, instead of just the scrub-type pants tied loosely at his hips; this was all bad enough without feeling like he was facing it naked as well. He pulled the sheet up as far as he could without appearing to need a shield.

"Well, I suspect there's a lot to discuss. But it's still your lead." Lebow sat down in the chair nearby, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a leather-bound notebook.

A blond brow popped up. "That's a tad larger than the notepad I recall from last time. Expecting a bigger file, are you?"

"No. This is for you." He set the notebook on the wheeled table that could be pulled over the bed. "A journal of sorts. It's not for sessions, not for analysis, just for you. An outlet, if you will, for whatever happens to be on your mind at the moment."

Myles shifted against the bed, grateful for the air mattress; there was only a slight twinge in his back at the movement. His eye twitched again as he gingerly folded his arms across his chest— he was finding even simple movements difficult. "What makes you think I need an outlet?"

"Everybody needs an outlet, Myles." Lebow leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes calm, his voice soothing. "I have one of these myself. You can't go five days a week, ten hours a day, listening to other people's concerns and not need to empty your mind once in awhile. Sometimes it's as simple as letting go of what you simply cannot control or help."

Myles forced down a sudden, overwhelming burst of anger. He wasn't sure what had triggered it, or was unwilling to allow himself to _admit_ what had triggered it.

"So this is yours," Dr. Lebow repeated. "I'll not ask to see it, and you have no obligation to show it to me unless there is something that you _want_ to share." He tapped the book on the table. "Some of my patients choose to keep their journals on their computers, but I remember you telling me you prefer longhand."

"Just mine?"

"Just yours." The psychologist smiled again, settling back in his chair as Myles ran his thumb along the edge of the journal and nodded slightly. "So, how are you feeling? The nurse out there told me you just woke up from a two-week induced coma this morning."

Myles took a breath, starting to tell his therapist he was just fine, thank you very much. But instead, he heard his own voice saying, "A little disconcerted. Things were… hazy… this morning." _What on earth— where did that come from? I don't want to tell him anything._ He clamped his mouth shut. _Nothing else._

"I can imagine they were," Lebow replied easily, as if they were discussing the weather. "You went from a horrific imprisonment to complete freedom and safety with very little conscious adjustment. It's only natural that your mind and your psyche needed some time to catch up. Are things still hazy now?"

"No." It was terse and to the point. No matter that it wasn't exactly the truth…

"That's good." If Lebow didn't believe him, he didn't let on. "How are things with your family? I assume they know at least that you were injured on the job."

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to them."

"Why not? Although, you did just wake up this morning. There hasn't really been time, has there?"

Myles shifted again, his eye twitching. "They needn't be concerned. I'm going to be fine, so they tell me."

Lebow nodded calmly. "Well, then, you must be anxious to get back to work. How long did they say you'd be out for?"

The man's voice was pleasant, as if he were just making small talk. Myles wanted to punch his lights out; the reference to going back to work had his gut churning and his breath backing up in his throat again. But he wasn't going to discuss it. "The doctor said a month for a desk and four for the field."

"Not so long." Dr. Lebow smiled again. "And your partner? How's she doing?"

"I don't know really. They tell me she's stable." Myles felt his voice rising in pitch and stopped talking, fighting for control. He could hear the Mozart concerto from earlier in the back of his mind. The twitch in his eye increased, and his fingers began unconsciously tapping the blanket.

The psychologist saw it, though. He stood and picked up his briefcase. "I'll let you rest, then. But I'd like to come see you tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right."

It most certainly _wasn't_ all right, as far as Myles was concerned, but he knew that Dimitrius would be all over him if he refused the psychological evaluation and treatment. He'd just have to find a way around it. He forced a very brief, very curt nod.

After Lebow left, Myles stared at the leather journal for a long time. _Just for me,_ he thought. _No one else will ever see it._ He managed to slowly pull the table over and flipped the book open, finding that Dr. Lebow had included a rather nice pen.

_No excuses,_ he thought with a snort as he struggled to tilt the tabletop and adjust the height. He was sweating a little by the time he got it to where he needed it and picked up the pen.

He sighed heavily, wiping at the sheen of perspiration on his brow and wincing all over again at the movement; there was really only one thing worming its way through the corridors of his mind and his gut. Lots of images, but only one real theme. Hand shaking, he set it on the paper— his own private "lecture circuit."

He'd intended to write it only once; five minutes later, when he realized he'd filled an entire page with no memory of having done so, his bold handwriting stared back at him, chanting over and over again with the throbbing in his shoulder:

**Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure Failure…**


	60. Chapter 60

**Sixty**

D's office was rather crowded; after he made sure everyone was there, he moved the group to one of the conference rooms. Gayle Boynton, the Bureau psychologist, arrived shortly thereafter, an interpreter by her side for Sue's benefit. Bobby's brows lowered at the sight of the woman, but he didn't say anything; to D, it appeared that the Aussie was still sulking.

"Now, you're probably wondering why we're all together here," D started. "The first round, you each saw Gayle individually. I think now it's time for a group session. Bobby, would you please tell everyone what happened earlier today, while you were _supposed_ to be waiting for me?"

"I sneaked in to see Tara." The Aussie's eyes were down, but his voice was far less belligerent-sounding than it had been.

His admission brought a flurry of questions from his teammates. "You did? How was she? Did she say anything?"

Dimitrius cut them off with a raised hand. "Enough. Finish your account, Bobby. How was she when you were escorted from her room?"

"She was screaming at me to get out," the tall agent replied dully. "She yanked out her IV and the nurse said she bruised her ribs up more. Her blood pressure set off the alarm."

"You're fortunate that she didn't start hemorrhaging all over again," D reprimanded softly. "Now, I'd like to hear what it was you said to her, and then Gayle here is going to explain some things to the lot of you."

"I— I don't get what upset her," Bobby said, "I was just trying to tell her that we were all here for her, that I promised nothing like this would ever happen to her again." He conveniently left out what _exactly_ it was that he'd said just before she started screaming; after his encounter in the lab, he needed to think some things over.

"Something you all need to understand," Gayle Boynton interjected, repeating it when D gently maneuvered her into Sue's sight line, "is that there is no 'quick fix' to an ordeal like this. A brutal physical assault, sexual or not, is not cured with a band-aid and a kiss. Add in the intense mental and emotional trauma that I suspect your teammates were subjected to, and it piles more layers onto not only the physical body, but the psyche as well. And the human psyche is far more fragile than the body."

"But we're their _friends_," Lucy protested. "We just want to help. How can we do that if they refuse to see any of us?"

"Quite simple. Be there without _being_ there."

The statement prompted another flurry of overlapping comments.

"What?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"How can we be there for them if they refuse to see us?"

Gayle held up a hand. "Whoa. Look, being a friend doesn't always mean being under someone's feet... being in the same room. Sometimes it's a card... sometimes a note... you get the idea. You can let them know you care by doing things for them, until they're _ready_ to talk."

"Like taking care of Tara's cat." Sue had been very quiet until now. "Or making sure that Myles' garden is all right."

"Exactly. You know what things are important to them. Making sure that those things will be there is just as important right now." Gayle saw the rotor start to protest again and stopped her. "Lucy, it's only been two weeks. Most of the healing process has been strictly physical. They're still trying to sort out their own feelings, let alone trying to explain them to anybody. Myles has been in an induced coma for that time, so he's even further behind than Tara. Take care of them without pushing. Let them come to you, when they're ready."

"Maybe it would help if you can give us an idea of the types of things they may be going through," D suggested. "I realize you don't know any more specifics than we do, but even a generalization might help."

Gayle sat down at the table with them; she'd had access to the reports Jack and Bobby had filed before another unit took over the actual investigation. D had privately talked to her about as much as he could within the limits of the sealed reports, so she had a fair picture of what they needed to hear.

"Right now they're probably feeling a great deal of numbness," she began. "Much of what they went through will be so painful that their minds will try to sublimate it, push it deep so they don't have to deal with it. They had to give statements for the investigation— that was a push that they weren't ready for emotionally, so I'm sure there are effects from that as well. In Tara's case, she's likely feeling a great deal of shame, as well as fear; it's typical in sexual assault cases. To what extent or in what direction she manifests it is depends on her own personality."

She sighed. "There's a… grieving process, you'd call it, involved in an attack like the one Tara endured. Something inside her psyche, her soul, if you will, was metaphorically killed, destroyed, and it's as real to her as if a dear friend had died. You have to allow that to take place. But let her lead out. There may come a point where she chooses to ritualize a closure somehow. If she does, then it's important that you not only allow it, but be a part of it."

She caught the shudder that ran across Lucy's shoulders. "It may help some of you to treat this as a 'death' in some ways. Something precious _has_ been lost. From both of them. Whether it's privacy or control over their own lives, tissue or blood or whatever, their souls have been raped just as thoroughly as her body was. And from what I read of the condition they were in when you found them, Myles' attack was just as brutal, even if it wasn't sexual."

Jack and Bobby both fidgeted in their chairs; aside from the uncomfortable thought in general, Bobby had another mental flash of the bullwhip he'd seen. To listen to this woman discussing it all so clinically and calmly made the Aussie's skin crawl.

Gayle continued. "When they _do _come back to work— and it's going to be recommended that they return as soon as medically possible, so that they can 'get back on the horse,' so to speak— they're going to expect that you will be looking at them 'differently.'As hard as it will be, you can't treat them any differently than you had before— no more protectively, no more watchful than you had before."

She folded her hands in front of her on the table. "It was a raid that went sideways. Regardless of the fact that there was nothing that could have been done differently, they probably both feel responsible. Right now they very likely feel you don't trust them... that you _shouldn't_ trust them… and probably they don't trust themselves. They feel that they've failed you— and because they're partners, each other. Possibly, in time, they'll even come to feel like they've failed _themselves_... but it's all a part of the healing process, and you have to allow them to feel it."

"That's an awful lot to feel all at once," Sue said softly.

"Yes, it is," Gayle replied. "And I doubt all of that has reached the conscious parts of their minds yet. It's not going to be an easy road for either of them. Nor will it be for any of you, if you're going to insist on instant answers. There are facets of the experience they may _never_ share with you. Accept that; just let it go that you're probably never going to have the whole story. It will help them as much as it helps you."

Dimitrius cleared his throat. "Folks, there's a whole lot that I can't tell you, because of the restrictions when their reports were sealed. But I can tell you one thing; this is not as cut-and-dry a situation as you may think it is. We just need to be patient. Can we do that?"

It was a sober group of nods that he got, but the tension surrounding them had dissipated greatly.

"All right," he said. "Let's get back to work, then."


	61. Chapter 61

**Sixty-one**

… _I swore when I started this that I'd keep her safe. She deserved the chance to fly, to see just what she was capable of outside the confines of her computer._

_How could I have let her go down there with me? I knew the risks, knew that it was likely a trap. I should have fought harder, ordered her to stay topside. She'd have hated me for it, but at least she'd be whole._

_If only I'd known what Jones was going to do… I never would have gone so quickly. I thought I was protecting her… and then to find that she'd— to protect me._

_How could she make such a decision? What on earth possessed her to agree to such a horrific thing? Didn't I teach her anything about her own value?_

_WHY??? Why did I have to discover my deeper feelings for her in the midst of this nightmare? To realize, and then be helpless against those maggots violating her over and over… the whip was less painful. And her eyes when she told me she had to go, to endure… the way she touched my cheek… I didn't know, didn't realize…if I had, I'd have stopped her from going, have killed Jones with my bare hands somehow… _

_God, help me, please, I love her— even after all the pain I've caused her, I still love her. I mean, I suppose I've loved her in one fashion or another since the day I met her; she has that effect on people, even when I was too caught up in my own little ambitions to acknowledge it. Her personality just lifts you the minute you come into her presence… or it did, until I destroyed her._

_But this… I remember D telling us about Donna, and how he knew she was the One— wanting to help her enjoy everything she'd once hated, to make her happy any way he could. _

_I want to do that for Tara— have been trying to do just that for the past year, I guess. To see her smile in the middle of a bad day or tense case, and to know that it was because of something I did… such a reward all by itself. To watch her stretch herself beyond what she thought she could do, and see her eyes light up in triumph… _

_And now I've destroyed her…_

He hadn't intended to write; had planned to pen the word "failure" just once and put the book away. But once he started, it all started pouring out and he couldn't stop. He glanced at the clock and was stunned to find that three full hours had passed with little realization. He'd filled about ten pages.

His back and arms were on fire. He could barely lift his hand to press the button for the nurses' station. The young man who came in to give him a shot of painkiller suggested that the writing be set aside for awhile.

Myles wearily glanced at the last few paragraphs again as he waited for the drugs to take effect. _You can't do that anymore,_ he told himself angrily. _You don't deserve to love her. Get out of her way. You have destroyed her; isn't that enough already? She needs you as her anchor, that's all. Just get her through this and then get out of her life._

_That_ needed to be a reminder; in quick, bold strokes he wrote down the reprimand, letting the pain of the movement drive the point home further. Then he read it, over and over, until the words were burned behind his eyelids.

He chose to ignore the burn it left on his heart.


	62. Chapter 62

**Sixty-two**

Sue watched quietly as the Bullpen settled into paperwork mode. The tension seemed to have receded somewhat, thanks to the impromptu "group therapy" session. But it still felt empty— and would until their teammates were back where they belonged.

The biggest change had come from Bobby; for two weeks now, she'd felt the anger radiating from him every time she went near him. He'd refused to talk about it, even with Jack, and she'd been very worried about the tall Aussie.

But the anger was gone, or at least far less than it had been. In its place she could read frustration mixed with almost a confused sadness.

She got up, taking a stack of closed files to the file cabinet by Myles' desk, so she could see the Aussie better. He was reading a report, but every few minutes his eyes would stray to the desk across from him, and the look on his face was unreadable. Then his eyes would flip back to the report.

Sue finished putting the files away and came over to lean against his desk. She couldn't bring herself to sit down in Myles' chair across from him. After a moment, he looked up at her. "Something on your mind, sheila?" he asked quietly.

"I was about to ask you the same question," she smiled, then signed YOU OK?

He shrugged, then set his feet on the floor and the report on his desk. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She had the impression that his question wasn't meant for the rest of the team. Glancing to see that Jack and Lucy were still engrossed in their respective projects, she turned slightly and perched on the corner of his desk.

"You… you were in there that first day. You saw both of them, even if it was just for a few minutes. Will you tell me what happened?"

Now it was her turn to shrug, and a sigh escaped. "I'm not sure, Bobby. I understood Tara's reaction when she first woke up…"

"What was it? How did she react?" His expression held none of the fiery intensity it had two weeks ago at the hospital, only a quiet curiosity.

"The first thing she did was to ask for Myles," Sue replied. "And she wouldn't let Jack touch her. I do remember that."

"Well, that does make sense," Bobby sighed. "After what she's been through, I doubt she's going to be comfortable with any of us blokes being anywhere near her for awhile. But she asked after Myles… I guess that makes sense, too…"

"They have been 'partners' over the last year," Sue observed, "and during those 48 hours they spent in Jones' clutches, I'm sure they were watching out for each other even more."

_Watching out for each other_… The phrase hit him like a lightning bolt; something else to think on later. "What about when you saw Myles? I know what you told us at the hospital, but…"

"He came to a little when I took hold of his hand. He seemed surprised to see me." She paused, thinking back, trying to remember every detail. "I told him he was in the hospital, that Tara had asked for him. I think he knew I wouldn't be able to read him, as weak as he was, because he didn't try to speak. He spelled out 'Tara OK.'"

"A question, then?" Bobby's dark brows drew together.

"I think so. I told him that she was awake and stabilizing. He signed 'good' twice, and I thought it _was _good. But then…" Now her expression became sad. "He just… it really was like he just _left_, and I saw the monitor start flashing. I honestly don't know, Bobby. Maybe I missed something, because I couldn't hear the tone of his voice…"

The Aussie patted her hand lightly. "I don't think you missed anything, Sue," he comforted. "You said he didn't speak, so there _was_ no tone of voice. I doubt he could have hidden much at that point anyway."

"I think Tara knows why he coded," the blonde woman continued. "When I talked to her afterward, to tell her he'd slipped into a coma, she said she knew why, but she couldn't tell me. She looked so sad when she said it."

"You think there's more to all this than just being captured… tortured." His expression indicated it wasn't a question. "More than we're aware of. Something… some extra twist we don't know about."

"I'm not sure, Bobby. That was the impression I got, from both of them, and also from the way D's been acting since he got their reports." She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. "We know that things have been different with them since they came back from Maine. They've… connected, I guess… like you and Jack, or Lucy and me. It's almost like siblings, but not. Do you know what I mean?"

The tall Aussie nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I hadn't thought about it that way, but you're right. So what do we do besides wait?"

"Pray. For them, for all of us. For patience, and guidance to help them when they're ready. And for now…" Sue smiled. "Would you rather take care of the cat or the garden?"

Bobby chuckled. "I think I'll leave the green things in your hands. 'Cujo Kitty' I can endure, but Myles will want to have things still actually _growing_ when he gets home." He watched her tilt her head at him in her signature "look," then squeezed her hand. "Hey… thanks."

WELCOME, she signed, speaking it as well for his benefit. THEIR WORLD WE MAKE SAFE, FEEL SAFE THEM WE HELP.


	63. Chapter 63

**Sixty-three**

He was exhausted; Mac could see it in the deep lines on his face as she walked back into the room. His eyes were closed as he lay back on the air mattress, the sheet pulled halfway up over his bare chest as if it were a shield. His shoulders were slumped, and she suspected it wasn't because he was asleep.

A leather journal lay closed on the table; the clasp was still open, the key in the lock, and the position of his hand next to it told her he'd tried and given up trying to fasten it himself.

The nurse walked over and started to close it for him, then paused. "Mr. Leland?" she said softly.

Myles opened his eyes slowly. "Mac. Please, call me Myles. It's all right."

"Would you like me to latch your journal for you?"

He gazed at it for a long moment before he answered. "I don't think I'd ever get it open again. But thank you for offering."

"How about it we just put it in the drawer under the table? Then you'll have a little leverage to work with when you want to get it out again."

His eyes widened a little, then filled with gratitude at her respect for his privacy. "I think that will work. Thank you."

He sounded as tired as he looked. Mac smiled and came to sit next to him. "You know," she reprimanded gently. "You don't have to do everything in one day. You _can_ sleep. It might do you some good, give your body a chance to catch up and your mind a chance to wind down."

"I have a promise to keep," he replied wearily. The pain she saw in his blue eyes this time was nothing physical.

"You're ready then? Tara should be coming off the sedative before long."

He glanced at his journal as she slipped it into the drawer, and she watched a line harden along his jaw, as if he were steeling himself for a confrontation.

"I'm ready," he said softly, not meeting her gaze.

"I'll grab a chariot, then." She was trying to lighten his mood, but Mac had a gut feeling that things would get much worse for him before they got better. The fact that he seemed to be visiting his partner only out of a sense of duty had her worried. Tara didn't need his pity; she needed his strength. And _that_ was something Mac wasn't seeing much of right now.

She returned with the wheelchair, watching him try to make his muscles obey him even enough to sit up on his own. The long day, combined with the overexertion she was sure he'd had, was making it nearly impossible. She watched his face contort in frustration.

"Easy there. Painkillers may help you feel better, but they can't charge muscles that are simply worn out." She parked the wheelchair with its back against the nightstand and set the brakes. "In fact, as much as you're going to hate me for it later, you're going to need my help with dinner, I suspect."

"Nothing like five-star treatment," he quipped softly, though she could hear the despair in his voice.

"Don't knock it, sport," she replied. "You just let me spoil you. Now, we're going to stand and pivot. You let _me_ do all the work; now is not the time to pull a macho routine."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Nurses are given authority over sharp objects."

She grinned wickedly, glad he was at least willing to banter with her a little. "And don't you forget it. If I help you sit up, do you want to try swinging your legs down by yourself?"

"You think I could?" Something like hope flared in his eyes, and Mac realized that something so simple might make a huge difference in his sense of safety right now. If he could feel like he was getting some handle back on his own life, his own independence, then he could start to find a basis to begin facing the rest.

"I'm not promising anything; it's only your first day up. But give it a shot." She elevated the bed slowly until he was nearly upright, then stepped out of his way. "You're going to be stiff. It's a bigger movement than we normally think it is. And you probably strained a few muscles this morning during that 'adrenalin run.' Just take it slow."

He grunted as he made the effort to move his legs to the edge of the bed, but she saw him concentrating on something besides guilt for the first time all day. _Physical therapy, the awake kind, will probably do as much good for his psyche as his body right now_, she thought.

He seemed to be having the most trouble trying to figure out how to get all the way around when he couldn't use his arms for leverage. She waited, letting male pride have its place for a moment, until he glanced at her briefly before trying again.

She smiled and tapped his shoulder lightly. "You need help, all you have to do is ask. I don't want to assume."

That flash of gratitude touched his eyes again before he sighed. "Help."

Mac chuckled. "You're tired; I'll forgive you this time. But I _know_ your mama raised you better than that."

"Please." The slight smile that touched his lips reassured her she hadn't tread on dangerous territory. D had explained to her a little about Myles' background when she'd asked about contacting his parents.

She helped him swing his legs all the way around, then faced him. "Not bad. Nice job. Now we're a team, ok? We're going to get you up and pivoted so you can sit down in the chair. Then I've got a pillow so soft your back will think it's on a cloud. How's that for five-star?"

He simply nodded this time. Mac lifted his arms to rest on her shoulders, then helped him lean forward until his feet rested on the floor. She reached around him at his hips and said, "Ok, now you just worry about the standing part. Leave the balance to me, ok?"

"M'kay."

She could tell his legs felt like lead weights to him, but he seemed to manage it without too much pain. Once he was standing, she eased him forward two steps, then turned him until he was lined up with the chair.

"All right. Halfway there." She glanced up at him. "You still with me?"

He managed a nod; Mac could tell he was spent, but she couldn't bear to get him halfway and then give up. "Ok. Going down may be a little more uncomfortable, since you're going to be stretching those grafts a bit. Just so you know, I have kept the secrets of many a man who couldn't hold a tear back because he was hurting like hell."

"You're a good woman, Mac," he whispered with a slight smile.

"That's what my husband keeps telling me," she grinned in response. "And I have a strong back. So let's do this. You just lean on me. Let me take your weight, and just ease yourself down."

Keeping her shoulder firmly against his chest, she eased him down as he bent his legs. She already had a pillow in the chair, and fought the instinct to brace him under his arms, since the tissue there was torn up as well. Once he made it halfway to sitting, she was able to grip the waistband of his scrub pants to help steer. All in all, it went fairly smoothly, with only the slightest jarring as he landed.

The only sound he'd made the whole way down was a half-grunt at the end, but when she straightened up she found his face wet with tears. She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and brushed it across his cheeks. "Secret's safe," she promised.

"Thank you." If he'd been able, she suspected he'd have pressed his fingers over the bridge of his nose just then. "I suspect those won't be the last. But thank you anyway."

He gingerly sank back against the pillow as she lifted his feet onto the rests. "Told you it was like a cloud," she said. "Was I right?"

"Yes."

"Now, you just sit back and relax for the trip. Doze off if you want, I won't be insulted." She settled a soft, lightweight robe over his shoulders, letting it cover him but hang out over the back of the chair so as not to irritate his skin. Then she released the brakes on the chair and eased it forward to smooth the momentum. "Here we go."


	64. Chapter 64

**Sixty-four**

Myles was silent the entire ride down the hall. He was so tired; yet now that he'd stopped moving, or more accurately had Mac moving him, the feelings from earlier came flooding back. He just couldn't drag up enough energy to grab onto them. In a way, it was a relief, even if he didn't deserve it. He simply didn't care at this point. Reckoning would still be there when he woke up again.

He was _almost_ ashamed (except that he had no energy for that, either) that he hadn't protested the robe the nurse had draped lightly over his shoulders. Here as no place else, he _deserved_ to be exposed. But it was chilly in the hospital, and the fact that he'd been sweating just trying to get out of the damn bed had him shivering.

_I want to see Anne_. The longing startled him, even though his sister was the one person, besides Tara, that he'd felt even remotely connected to in the past year; he just wasn't sure he could face her. The things she had done at her law firm paled so greatly in comparison to his failures— it seemed he hadn't "won," after all. _I don't care. I want to see her._

"Here we are." He'd nearly succumbed to sleep when Mac's soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. "You just relax for a few minutes while I run her vitals." She parked the chair near the right side of Tara's bed and set the brakes. Then she gently raised his arm and let his hand settle on the blankets near his partner's. "Just in case," she said kindly.

He tried to summon the strength to even look over at Tara, but found that he couldn't. He closed his eyes and simply listened to Mac moving around the room, felt a faint vibration as Tara's bed was elevated slightly. His head relaxed against the softness of the pillow she'd put in the high-backed wheelchair and he allowed the pull of sleep to take him in warm arms.

_... He watched her, the rapture on her face as she played. There was just something about Debussy's "Claire de Lune" that soothed even the bitterest soul, and Anne's viola sang the piece right into his heart. He'd never admit it to her, but he loved to hear her play, to listen to her soul take flight with the notes she coaxed from the strings. Even the persistent beeping of the metronome couldn't dim the way the music crept right into him, balm for his tired body and aching soul… _

"Myles?" A soft voice and a hand on his shoulder.

"Hmm…" _… just listen… lose myself in the sweetness of the song…_

"Tara's still asleep. I need to go get a new set of bandages for her ribs. You just rest. The supports will keep you from leaning forward too much."

"…hmm…" _… whoever was sitting next to him stopped talking finally, and he was free to enjoy the music undeterred…_


	65. Chapter 65

**Sixty-five**

…_she was cold… though it was likely more from the fear in her heart for her partner than it was the actual temperature of the cell… she kicked herself mentally yet again for her mistake in the hallway. She'd been too concerned about releasing the door to realize that the beam Myles tripped probably wasn't the only one set up… and here they were…_

_Dan Jones was running his mouth again in the lab, something about ripping the smug attitude out of Myles. _Just try it,_ she thought with a quick smile toward her partner. No matter how much of that attitude was really a mask, she knew that it was there to stay, for a while longer at least. He needed it._

_Suddenly, a sound like nothing she'd ever heard before crashed into her thoughts. A whooshing sound, followed by a wicked snap and the most unearthly cry; it hardly sounded human, let alone coming from her polished partner. Her head snapped around of its own accord, and she saw the bright red gash bloom across his back._

_His hands had clenched around the ropes binding him; his knuckles were as white as what she could see of his face. _No!!_ her mind screamed. _Myles!! No!!

_But she knew it was far past time for intervention. She gripped the sill of the observation window, frozen in place, as Jet brought his arm back for a second lash. She heard herself scream her partner's name, and saw him react just slightly. He didn't turn to look at her, but he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tightly. _

_As the leather whip tore into his skin a second time, she heard no sound; if he cried out at all, it wasn't enough to carry through the lab window. She wondered how he could endure such torture silently, then realized he was doing it for her. She could almost hear him in her mind: **Turn away, Tara. Please. Don't watch.**_

_But she couldn't; as much as she wanted nothing more than to run across the cell to the lavatory and empty her churning stomach, she would not desert him. Not now. Not ever. Not after this…_

_Again and again the lash sounded, but Myles didn't cry out again, that she could hear. And with every lash, her love for him and the crushing guilt for getting them into this mess grew by leaps and bounds._

_Dan Jones had been watching the whole thing with a delighted smirk on his face, though she could only see him in profile. Now he turned, and in that moment everything changed… the dark eyes turned blue, the graying hair became a chocolate brown, and a square jaw set fiercely. Words burned into her brain as Bobby Manning stared at her, nodding aside to Jet to continue: **I'm going to make sure that Myles doesn't ever get another chance to allow something like this to happen to you. You have my word on that. **_

_Her hands splayed against the glass. "No! You don't understand! Nooooo……!_

"Noooo!" She came to with a gasp, and would have shot up out of the bed if Mac hadn't been there to catch her by the shoulder.

"Woah, there. Let's not beat up the ribs anymore today."

Tara blinked, trying to get her bearings again. She wasn't in the dimly-lit cell, but in a hospital room; the lights were on and someone's hand was warm under hers. Her ribs hurt with every gasping breath, but at least it wasn't the agony of this afternoon.

"Wha—?"

Mac moved back into her sightline. "I'd say that was some nightmare. I hate dreaming when I'm under sedation, too. Takes forever to get out of a bad spot. Want to talk about it?"

"I—" She tried to slow her breathing again; it was killing her ribs. Then she slumped against the pillows. "I was back in the cell… the first time… only it wasn't Jones who was hurting him…"

Suddenly, she heard a soft voice humming a familiar classical tune, and turned her head to see who it was, whose hand was touching hers. The nightmare vanished as her heart leaped in her chest.

"Myles?" she whispered, her voice half-strangled in disbelief.

"Shhh," Mac soothed. "Let him sleep for a few minutes more while I finish with your vitals and check those bandages. He needs it; it's been a long day."

Tara tightened her hand around her partner's and just gazed at him, relief coursing through her. He looked pale and drawn, but he was alive, and the sleep he was in seemed healing rather than induced. The deep welts she remembered crossing his chest were scabbed over, and she knew that the skin graft operations on his back were done. The raw spots on his wrists were all but faded as well. The dark purple-red bruise around his eye that she recalled too well from their last moments together in the cell was nearly gone.

"A long day?" she asked softly, not wanting to wake him just yet. He was alive, and he was here; that was enough for now.

Mac nodded as she helped Tara sit up and lean forward; the nurse adjusted the tight wrap around her ribs and the pain of waking from the nightmare faded. "He _should_ have slept at least part of the day, but with D's report and then a prelim with the therapist… and what I suspect was a rather lengthy exposition in his journal…"

"Why isn't he holding onto my hand? I thought that even in dreams…"

"I'm not sure he _can_ at this point, Tara." Mac's voice was gentle. "He's done too much today; his muscles are still recovering, both from the trauma and then the two-week coma. A physical therapist was in while he was induced, just to keep his muscles from atrophy, but that's minimal. You don't realize what muscles are used in something even as simple as writing until you have to do it impaired. He's worn out; even getting into the wheelchair was a tremendous strain. But he promised he'd come see you, and he insisted on keeping that promise."

Tara smiled; it was nice to know that at least _some_ things hadn't been tainted by Dan Jones' villainy. Myles was, at heart, a knight— _her_ knight, no matter what else might be going on. She might not deserve anything more from him, but that at least would continue as they worked their way back from the precipice.

"Hey." Mac's voice penetrated her thoughts. "Why am I seeing sad eyes behind that smile?"

_Face it._ The words pierced her heart, but she knew it had to happen eventually. Mac would be a good place to start.

"Because it's my fault he's here," she admitted softly. "It's my—"

"Seems to me that the two of you are trying awfully hard to place blame on yourselves instead of where it should be." The nurse eyed her directly, then nodded toward Myles. "I've listened to the same line of reasoning from _him_ all day."

Mac paused in writing notes on Tara's chart, set the clipboard down and perched on the foot of Tara's bed. "You say it's your fault; he says it's his. Why is it that neither of you are acknowledging that _Dan Jones_ made the choice to start this whole mess in the first place? It doesn't matter who went and who stayed, who did what or allowed what; none of it would have happened at all if Jones hadn't decided to a) escape, and b) not head for Rio off the bat."

Tara just stared at her for a moment. _Do I dare believe that? What about all—? Can I allow—?_

"She's right."

A soft voice penetrated her soul and warmed her heart, though she still felt confused. She turned to see blue eyes, infinitely tired blue eyes, watching her. But they weren't filled with accusation; if anything, they showed the same confusion she felt.

"It doesn't mean I can make myself _believe_ it right now," Myles continued softly, slowly. "But logically, I know she's right."

Tara nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "Maybe. And maybe this is irrational, but I need to do it anyway. Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to—" His own eyes showed his distress, and he tried to squeeze her hand; she could feel the effort he was making.

"Perception," Tara replied.

Myles sighed and nodded slightly. "All right, for perception's sake," he said. "Yes, Tara, I forgive you." He started to say something more, but it seemed to stick in his throat.

She knew him too well; her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle to do the same thing she had. But he wasn't ready; she could see the overwhelming guilt gather behind his eyes.

_I wonder if, when he's moved past the guilt, he'll remember what he saw in those last minutes…_ The thought hit her like a thunderbolt, and she looked away quickly, shame blanketing her almost tangibly. Her arm snaked around her stomach, pressing to offset the breath-stealing pain that had settled in her gut.

"Tara?" His voice conveyed a world of hurt.

She wanted to explain; she knew he thought she was reacting to his guilt, endorsing it somehow. But she couldn't speak; she felt Mac ease her back onto the pillows.

"It's all right, Myles," she heard the nurse say. "It's not anything to do with blame. You both may find that when you're together, things flash back for one reason or another. I'd bet money that's what's happening to her right now. For today, let's concentrate on the physical healing; the rest will come later."

_Bless you, Mac_. Tara closed her eyes and listened as the nurse moved to release the brakes on Myles' wheelchair and take him back to his room. She squeezed his hand once more before it slipped from her grasp, and the words of a song they used to listen to crept into her thoughts:

_Where have you gone?_

_Where are you now?_

_Rainy April regrets,_

_All this pain and sorrow. …_

Tears fell again as she wept for them both, wept for what had been and what might never return…

Then she prayed for whatever might rise from the ashes…

* * *

End Arc II

* * *

**This is all I have finished on this series. While I don't intend to leave them here, the subject matter has been intense enough that I need a break to complete some other projects before I come back to this. But I _will_ come back. Watch for _The Story We Started_, coming at some indeterminate date...**


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